Enga mellom fjella

Snow veils

Snow veils the mountains to the north. Spare flakes dare to fall to the valley floor. Green peaks out beneath the rubble of last autumn's de-leaving.

I need a haircut.

Like I needed a vacation ten years ago. There was no reason to stay in town I was told. Only when I got back did the decision seem foolish. To my friend Gare it was coming back so soon that was foolish.

That year I watched the basketball championship with my brother-in-law. I cheered for Kansas while he cheered for Syracuse. His team won. Since then Kansas has done better.

This year Syracuse plays Montana on the 21st.

Ten years ago I called Gare on the 21st. I was sitting in my car in front of the house my father lived in in 1928. On Lake Street, Okmulgee, Oklahoma.

Green warmth, the essence of Spring. A white house. Gare's cheerful voice. My father would've been 87 that day. Born in 1916; gone 1999.

Age veils some memories; new ones spring forth like grass. New shoots growing next to the old.

Me:

These 41 pieces of prose have been edited. Now need a quick look-over before I hand them to "victims" to read, to help me sort them out. I want to make a chapbook. I hope there are 22 that can arise to the occasion, or at least 16.

"This and Every November (prose letters) " 

I'm reading too much! Finished another book last night. Started a new one already.

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