The Canyon

Henrietta, Texas, 1952-1957. To the northwest of town, the homes came to a sudden stop, at the Canyon. We boys called it the Canyon, but our town being built on Texas rolling hills, it wasn't exceptionally magnificent. Except to us, of course.

A stream or creek emerged from the rock, and fell twenty feet into a small pool, in which lived a legendary large fish. From the pool, when there was rain, the outbound creek trickled and cut through a wide and expanding sandy basin.

To either side, the long arms of rocky shelf stretched, reaching down to meet the plain, and beyond, a hazard of tumbled woods, open plains, and a great and empty distance.

For us boys, this was Heaven.

[Read more ... ]

A Cottage in East Grinstead

East Grinstead, Sussex. 1968. When I went to study in England, I wore my warm railroad clothing, because I feared to pack my oily boots inside my suitcase. Lucky, as it turned out, because my suitcase went on a two-week vacation to Madagascar, and England was very cold.

With a roommate I had a front room, looking onto the sleepy village lane. My roommate maintained a running battle with the early birds. In the early morning dark, an invisible milkman left bottles on the step. The quick little birds then swooped down to peck holes in the tin-foil caps, and they siphoned off the cream with their narrow beaks. Each morning, the roommate swore at the holes in the milk caps.

That and the heater.

[Read more ... ]