April 1, 2002

I’m writing this on a battered legal pad, as I sit in a giant metal bird that’s flying majestically over Baltimore’s harbours. The hazy countryside slides along below, while above, the sky is an amazing azure jewel.

I’m about 45 minutes away from Boston and what is sure to be an odd trip to see Saalon and Erin. Of course, it’s always been a joy to see them, and I expect that this trip will be no different, but we’ve been forced to schedule a visit during the work week. I’ll be alone in Saalon’s apartment during the days, but we’ll be able to spend evenings together, at least.

I hope to spend some of that time alone by writing. Now that Quiet has started, I want to move forward with it. I want to explore that world in more detail, illuminating the rich experiences of that town. I want to re-visit Camphor Grove Park. I want to sit on Elizabeth’s front porch on a hot summery day and sip lemonade, where the only sound is the chink of the ice and the rustle of the leaves in the trees. I want to watch children play disorganized baseball.

Quiet has begun.

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