Or for that matter where am I? Unwritten tales from Cambodia are vivid in my mind’s eye. Time and fate twist and slip through my fingers. What follows cannot be a full account.
To begin with
Twenty minutes to the airport: something to be said for a godawful o’clock departure. I fell through space and landed in an enchanted garden. Once there were butterflies.
To begin again
 |  |
Larry is at Scott Street, S.F.
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I am at Scott Street, S.F.
We’re the Fukari?
La carte blanche
La plus ca change | Well, I’m always circling back to the wisdom of Ahjan Bram: the cup of tea in the jungle clearing never fails. | |
An old habit from the days of lessons with Tessa at World’s End Studio: my journal entries begin with the date in Spanish. Time is neither linear, nor inexhaustible. To drive this new device is painstaking. I’m alone and it’s taken me hours. Once I’m caught up in the whirl, transmissions will be intermittent. But my love is a steady pulse. You can tune in to it anytime, anywhere.
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