We steal some cheap flashlights.
I am under the tented cover at night,
reading a thrilling, historical Russian novel.
It is Sholokhov’s, ‘The Don Flows Home to the Sea’.
The Reds and the Whites. His stories charge,
flow are sad joy full picturesque scenes.
I like stories I can visualize.
3-dimensions in living color.
The Sun reflects off the sabre.
I read lots of books, slowly, because of poor sight.
There are theme periods. Psychiatry and psychology,
love London’s ‘The Call Of the Wild. Read that one a lot.
An early edition of the Rombauer/Becker
‘Joy of Cooking’ teaches me how to prepare
rolled biscuits. I add more butter and some cream.
I’ve got more food stories than I remember.
This old memory comes and goes along
with the rest of us. Isn’t that a truth?