Chapter One: Heaven and Earth In Jest I live by a creek, Tinker Creek, in a valley in Virginia’s Blue Ridge. An anchorite’s hermitage is called an anchor-hold; some anchor-holds were simple sheds clamped to the side of a church like a barnacle or a rock. But then some things are never simple. I think of this house clamped to the side of Tinker Creek as an anchor-hold. It holds me at anchor to the rock bottom of the creek itself and keeps me steadied in the current, as a sea anchor does, facing the stream of light pouring down. Or maybe it’s just holding me under.
Yet again in your wisdom and prodigious literary knowledge crossed two swords I didn’t know could know each and yet now do. I’m laughing desperately and seeing Dillard with brand new eyes. Thanks.
The moth smoking a cigarette just kills me. They totally would if they could.
Yet again in your wisdom and prodigious literary knowledge crossed two swords I didn’t know could know each and yet now do. I’m laughing desperately and seeing Dillard with brand new eyes. Thanks.