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)."
w i g · l e a F