I couldn't get this off my camera last night, but this afternoon I succeeded! So here we are. I've been reading Louis Simpson again, The king my father's wreck. This is billed as a memoir, while North from Jamaica is called an autobiography. I think that, in this case, the autobiography is a better book--but I have enjoyed them both very much. His Collected Poems came today. Even though I have another copy, I need one in Idaho. The ease of getting used books from Amazon may prove my undoing, storage-wise. What use is it to take pictures of sunsets? One is much like another, only some frames are better.
It has been interesting to read at about the same time, the works of Paul Gruchow. I forget what put me onto this. He was a beloved nature writer ("the Thoreau of Minnesota) and a person who suffered much of his life from severe clinical depression. Eventually he killed himself at quite a young age.
Both of these writers are distinguished by a thoughtful, questioning habit of mind. It has been a remarkable experience to read them together in the last few days. I think that nature essays are just about my favorite kind of reading, holed up in a comfortable chair in my centrally heated house.