Dear Wigleaf,

Just wanted to let you know that Finnegan Flawnt, my otherwise fixed, obligatory influence and friend, has given up teaching, opting for an endless sabbatical to a stone hut on a lonely mountain peak somewhere in Europe with enough provisions, books, paper and pen, dry cords of firewood, and food on the shelves to outlast most any natural or unnatural disaster. He says he has no intention of ever answering the door should anyone stumble there on what must be the darkest and most deserted of nights. No need for window shades — although I think that a bit extreme — phones, texting, or computer. I want nothing, he says.

When I asked him to tell me why he was really leaving, he wrote this note — letting me know he was too tired to speak: Somewhere a wolf howls toward morning. Somewhere a tree falls in the wind. And the cities flicker their thin walls of stars like struck matches against something you almost remember but cannot.

Not sure what to make of that, but I'm thinking maybe he's been reading Heraclitus again. I'm only guessing, but I don't think he's ever coming back. I know Finnegan claims he needs the time to write, but I really believe he's involved in some sort of witness protection, pyramid scheme, or cult. Who can say?

best to you,


- - -

Read SR's "The Sleep of Trees (Three Parables)."

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