There are days when you realize that you have come so far from where you started that it actually makes you question whether you are in the right place. And so on this windy night as the branches crash against the roof and the debris blows through the canyon, I think of England and the gale that took a huge limb of the copper beech that stood tall at the end of the lawn. And the pink and rimey dawn that followed. It is midwinter. On Friday is the solstice and we are in LA, like Joni Mitchell, dreaming of rivers to take us away.
I wonder when it is that we give up the dream of perpetual youth that the media foists upon us and stop spending out days waiting for miracles and instead go back to simple truth of our childhoods: picking mushrooms in fields, brambling, fixing raspberry canes with cold fingers and red noses, getting sore teeth from smiling on frosty days, too early in the morning.