We lost Mike O'Connor out in his naive land
of the Pacific Northwest — but then the Far East
could also be said to be Mike's native place as well —
sometime this month. I was just receiving the news
from a mutual friend who also sent to me this photograph
of Mike titled "Mike/Old Growth" when we got slammed
up and down in Vermont with a heavy wet snowfall and
all power went bye-bye for a day and night so there
was no access to nothing except the snowmelt pools
I found to fill us up 15 gallons of water for bathing and
dishes, something Mike would well understand.
Mike's book of poems The Rainshadow remains one
of my standby classics — built, indeed, out of old growth.
How do you not fall for a guy who looks
like this guy in this photograph?
[ BA ]
