Today, incidentally, is the birthday of Edward Abbey (1927),
as well as Jules Feiffer (1929, and the anniversary of the first TV show in
1926. Abbey once said if a man
can’t piss off his own front porch, he lives too close to town, a philosophy to
which I subscribe as well.
As if to prove he could write as well as anyone and better than most, he also penned this:
"Benedicto: May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you -- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls."
Happy birthday, Ed.