I am high up on a mountain, actually a butte, in central
Arkansas. Who knew Arkansas had buttes.
I am with a several college kids, my oldest son and my lover all asleep in the
cabin. It’s wet and thick with fog and
quiet as a long cigar. I am outside
getting the lay of the land. Wild thing
sing tunes in the woods. We are here to
build sculpture. Young kids are good for
an old soul, reminds me of The Grace that allowed me to outlive my youth. They sleep and I marvel. Youth is not wasted on an ancient old sculptor.
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