June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

Everybody has to feel superior to somebody," she said. "But it's customary to present a little proof before you take the privilege.

First, a gorgeous breakfast: just everything you can imagine from flapjacks and fried squirrel to hominy grits and honey in the comb...we're so impatient to get at the presents we can't eat a mouthful.

She took off her dark glasses and squinted at me. It was as though her eyes were shattered prisms, the dots of blue and gray and green like broken bits of sparkle.

Still, when all is said, somewhere one must belong: even the soaring falcon returns to its master's wrist.

I don't use a typewriter, I write longhand, with a pencil. Essentially I'm a horizontal writer. I think better when I'm lying down.

I know the next best thing is often the very best.