Eight days the sun rose in Two Dot without me, but I am here again sitting on my bed in the direct line of its rising. The grass is misted and in the distance the river is made visible by its rising shroud of vaporized moisture. There are deer in the field and a sandhill crane feeding. I haven’t seen the antelope and her baby yet, but am hoping she is still there. There are nighthawks and the robins are talking, as are Two Dot’s two horses. A couple of cars have made their Monday morning commute out on the highway. But the real sound is the buzz of expectation around the studio.
