I read at night with my talking iPad. Often I fall asleep while the book is going; then wake, listen, wash through the pages like a half literate undersea creature, some readerly fish. Sometimes I dream along with the book—a wonderful thing—I’m in Latvia with Wallander but also somehow in my childhood house. There’s a floating quality to this. One is both “on” the ground and above it.
Last night I was talking with Thomas Jefferson. His hair had just started to go grey. He had a kind eye, a good smile. Snow flurries fell outside a window. I woke happy.
Now, on to the frozen world.