October 24, 2013

Toured the garden yesterday afternoon to see what the losses would be if it froze last night, as it was predicted to do. The worst were the towering angels’ trumpets, with buds a foot long, that will never now open. It is the dark of the morning and I have not inspected, but I fear the worst. I will not quite be gone before the sun rises, so I will have to face it.

Ready to travel. This is an unusually complicated trip, with all sorts of instructions and requirements from the people at the Sun, but having them, I think, taken care of adds a measure of confidence. Invited to JBs’s birthday party north of SF on Sunday. I know it’s unlikely, but I think about it, because I loved him so much and it’s been so many years since we laid eyes on each other, he the red giant next door with the scarlet tangle of hair and the gentleness of a poet. Some poet other than me. He is a memory unsullied.