I'm hungry for land, to be on a mesa in New Mexico or by the beach out on Long Island. I like to walk hard, feel my legs and my breath and my heart pounding, then stop completely and sit on a rock and sit and sit, being there, taking in with my lungs the absolute openness of space and smell, shade and light. I can't live without a plot of land to garden in in summer, tall cosmos and zinnias—oh, my--the few tomatoes that grow in the dry New Mexico soil. Other places I love, too--savannah dripping wet with humidity and Florida near the Atlantic where both my parents let go of life, the palms out the window, the sky hazy. I love flat Texas and flat Kansas and the hump of hills in Eastern Nebraska, the long slope of a hill to my friend’s house in Muir Beach, and the bluffs by the Mississippi. I’m passionate about this election and I want Obama to win. I want to have some pride in America again. I care about reading--not just for me, but getting others to read, that high activity of the mind, scraping close to what we think, working that muscle, taking thoughtful care for the lives around us. I love to eat--chocolate chip cookies, scrambled eggs, small poppyseed rolls, slabs of cheese, grapes, corn on the cob. I walk around saying, Someday I will be gone. I know this, now. Take it in, even the pain. You won't have it forever. And the buckeyes are dropping in the street this fall day in October, moving into the eve of Yom Kippur when the whole world gets born again.