Vacancies from my past, hurt me now; a song on my record player says “pull up the roots” and I realize that I love the roots more than anything, although I don't know where to look for them; today it rained and gave me a feeling that seemed like a memory, but I have never lived here before, although I have watched rain beat on a window. I am going through the motions and it does not feel native to me to be cooking my dinner alone. These are my hands that stir the onions. They have done so for sixteeen years. And now my solitude bewilders me. I want you to come and live with me to share the planting. It’s not as simple as that.

15 March 1986, Menlo Park