Why I sat on a hillside on a rock yesterday. Why the grass is turning gold blowing in the wind. Why I saw a grasshopper and why the swallows troll the hillside like fishing lures. Why the wind was from the west twenty miles from the ocean, but why it smells like hot dry grass. Why bugs whine in the valley where there is a silver road on which smoking cars and trucks traverse the aching distances, never where they want to be.
7 July 1973