Some months ago, I walked to the post office to mail three copies of my book about dogs. It was a fine weekday morning and the last of the cherry blossoms fell like so many poems about falling cherry blossoms. Across the street, a man with the appearance of homelessness captured my attention. He was sitting on the sidewalk surrounded by his possessions. He was drinking malt liquor from a can and smoking a cigarette. Cherry blossoms fell on him as well. Didn't Jesus say something about that? Or was it about rain or mercy or justice? No, that was Portia in
And everyone should read your book "Of Dogs and Meaning." It is a masterpiece!