Monarchs ride fall's cold fronts south in waves, warming us in thin orange blankets stitched by a million nearly mindless threads weaving arabesques bright as autumn leaves. I too would leave, run with the wind, and wave goodbye to all of this, fly a carpet over the Appalachians' parapets, high above the Mississippi's swerves, head south to the Gulf and west to Texas, crossing the Rio in a grander, drier river, through Chihuahua, Durango, Zacatecas, into Michoacan's fabled forest firs and winter where the trees are hung with wealth undreamt by Bogarts mucking gold beneath. Book jacket.
Mercer University Press
Education & Reference