He looks out over the mighty river, the life's blood of the Midwest.
And in this place, above the Mississippi, and beneath the bronzed gaze of the great writer, is the quietest place I've found in a long time.
Along with a sandwich and a cold glass of cola, it was as near to a perfect afternoon as I can remember.
1 comment:
I just went to an exhibit of his at the Morgan Library. Actual handwritten manuscripts. I wish I'd been able to sit and read them at your spot.
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