Shenandoah

We drove into the Valley in a hurricane, so I literally couldn't see as much as I wanted to.

But the trees, the fields, the green of everything, struck me with what felt like a shock of recognition.

We drove along the spine of the Blue Ridge for a while the next day, after visiting Port Republic. The storm was blowing over, with wild wind and deep mist, leaves and branches all over the road. I felt that I could dissolve into the mountains, into the ancient dark under the trees, and lose myself, and live forever. When we hiked down over shattered rock and fallen leaves to a waterfall, I walked almost in a trance, with secret dreaming images rising in my mind and old music ringing in my ears. I think if I lived there, I would write more poetry. Or learn to do magic.

I live among huge trees, in a beautiful part of the world, and I've spent plenty of time backpacking in the Sierras, but for almost a month after I came home California seemed a drab and barren desert to me.



Trib's War has been rejected now by three editors and remains with six. In the meantime, I'm working on Stealing the Sun. I expect to have a draft finished by the 31st. If I don't spend all my time reading SUNDIAL IN A GRAVE, that is.

Happy, happy squids.

--Kyri