I Think That Sometimes The Great Changes

Laughter Nibbled At My Lips Like Tiny Fish In Warm Water.

It's Unimaginable To Me That I Wouldn't Write, But It's Very Imaginable That I Won't Write For A Little While.

Walter Loves The Sea, And I Need It In Some Elemental Way That I Cannot Even Come Close To Verbalizing. I Become Dim And Shriveled Somehow At My Very Core If I Am Away From The Sea Too Long. When I Return To It I Seem To Fill Up And Overflow With It, Soaking In The Vast, Sighing Wetness Of It Like A Parched Vine In A Long, Soft Spring Rain.

That Sinuous Southern Life, That Oblique And Slow And Complicated Old Beauty, That Warm Thick Air And Blood Warm Sea, That Place Of Mists And Languor And Fragrant Richness.

I Felt Tears Sting Into My Eyes, And Took A Deep Swallow Of The First Champagne I Had Ever Tasted, Remembering That I Had Read Somewhere That The Monk Who Invented It Said, On First Tasting It, 'it Is Like Drinking Stars'.