I had good innings, as the British say. I wrote for 38 years at the top of my form, and I wanted to quit on a high note.

For writing a first draft requires from the writer a peculiar internal state which ordinary life does not induce. ... how to set yourself spinning?

What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.

It's about waking up. A child wakes up over and over again, and notices that she's living. She dreams along, loving the exuberant life of the senses, in love with beauty and power, oblivious to herself -- and then suddenly, bingo, she wakes up and feels herself alive. She notices her own awareness. And she notices that she is set down here, mysteriously, in a going world.

Your feelings are none of your business.

I saw in a blue haze all the world poured flat and pale between the mountains

Like everyone in his right mind, I feared Santa Claus.