Drinking tea sitting on the porch of my buddy Eric's guest house in Clarksdale, Mississippi, watching the Sunflower River drift by at the bottom of the slope. It's narrow and muddy, glassy and flat. A wood duck swam along, thrusting out his neck, methodically searching each tiny cove for his girlfriend so she could be impressed with his neck-thrusting. Hadn't found her by the time he swam out of sight.

It's been spring down here for weeks. Yellow wildflowers down by the river; would tell you what they are but don't have the boots one needs to go tramping down there, on account of there might be snakes. All the deciduous trees have leafed out in various shades of green except the pecans, which are just starting, little bright green pom-poms all over their branches. Lots of cardinals flitting around the yard, plus bluejays, catbirds, robins, mockingbirds and some I don't know, thrushes and something small and gray. Songs I don't know, also, from all around, and a woodpecker I can hear but not see. Red squirrels in the trees, larger than the gray squirrels back home. And foxes! A mother and five kits, the kits old enough now to go around exploring on their own, curious enough to pop their heads up from hiding places just to see what I am here on the guest house porch.