The imagined not imaginary landscape, not a Madison Avenue image, a cigarette billboard of a ranch-hand with a horse, sagebrush, and sienna buttes. Not even a Japanese garden of gravel raked around rocks and moss, an image of wooded islands in a calm sea. But the lost identity—that rare landscape in which love and the intricacy of the otter is drawn with discipline and concentration to the rye-grass of the treeless island.
8 October 1983, Palo Alto