April 28, 2011

Dark of morning. Distant lightning.

Bruce’s letter about My Trip Down the Pink Carpet is harrowing and, if representative of a general condition, discouraging. Numerous good reviews, some raves, didn’t lift ticket sales above 30%. It’s scary. I want to say, “Do my show! I’ll save you!” but for the fear that the gods would be listening.

Scent of blossoming locust over the city. In my garden, the scarlet lupine, a bevy of iris, the pink bank roses, some terra cotta groundcover on the slope I had forgotten planting.Planted one more white lilac, spiderwort, white bleedingheart.