Friday, September 19, 2008

Thou Hast Thy Music Too,--

Fall begins to set on in East Tennessee. One leaf turned bright orange, the sound of train whistles against the mountains, the apple and pear trees sagging. It's lovely here, and I'm thinking of Keats:

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

In other news, my dear, dear friend Nate Pritts has a new book out, Honorary Astronaut, with my own dear press, Ghost Road. Buy one. Make Christmas easy on yourself this year and buy a whole bundle. Spread the word. Tell the kids. Tell the whole extended family.

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