April 20, 2017

The beginning of the Time of the Bursting Forth. Red peonies gather like a little constellation in the back–their first year. My first pink, rather ragged, rose appears. Buds swell. Good day in the studio. Cleaned out space for Richmond. Stopped dead three times on the road between here and Waynesville. I of course suppose that mendacity and incompetence is the cause of traffic hell, but whatever the cause is, it’s a mile or so beyond by turn-off, so perhaps I’ll never know. The Great Gatsby is a thin play, and I wonder if anyone who hadn’t read the novel can follow it. I like my fellow cast members.