I'm on vacation--or holiday, they say up home. Holiday is a strange word for the usual summer trip; it's an elision of holy day. But I am, in a way, in retreat. I'm writing from the beautiful high prairie in Central South Dakota; dramatic hills wheat-gold or red-gray and riveled where they're too steep for grass. Actually, it's not grass. Yucca. Side Oats. Broom. Cone Flower. Wild Sage. Squirrel grass in dense clumps as lively as water, almost white with all their caught light. Deer, and yes, the occasional buffulo. I'm not from here, but it always feels like home--wild and vivid and hard.
I'm scribbling energetically but plan to be away from the computer. My posting is going to be quite spotty till next week.
