It’s Sunday morning. The art exhibit, which was attended by a couple of thousand, is over. Met a ceramist whose work I dug: Mark Rademacher. Will meet with him soon to pick up a few pieces: well-executed vessels of almost ancient proportions. This dude innately understands Golden proportion, to which clients always instinctively respond. Wonderful glazes. Pit-fired, which is rare these days.

We’ll have brunch at Mud Street Cafe, then pull out of these hills. First, a hike at Roaring River, where there’s a spring the size of an Olympic pool. Later, another hike at the George Washington Carver place. Then out of the hills, onto the Missouri prairie, and eventually home.

There’s no other place quite like the Ozarks: the big springs, the caves, the water-carved hills. Dorrell history here too: pre-Civil War, alternating wealth and poverty, some clans educated and prosperous, others nothing better than white trash. Most of them violent, as was the tradition then. Lord the stories I could tell, but I do that in my novels. I’ll do it a little bit here too, but later.

I should also discuss what’s going on with the agents in NY, and what’s going to happen to my newest book–along with the four mature ones, the screenplay, etc. But I think I’ll save that for tomorrow. For now, I’ve got to go pick up some art, take a hike, make a drive.