A man sits in the window, bundled in a light grey jacket and a blue French scarf wrapped around his neck. By the light of the lone candle that flickers near him on the table, his unruly and uncombed hair shines silver, though his face is that of a middle-aged man. He writes with fountain


Tea and Sea Otters: A Poet’s Cottage

Sometimes my ‘house karma’ amazes even me. Seated at the mosaic-tiled bistro table on the flagstone terrace in front of the cottage, a pot of afternoon English tea and a small dish of almonds and dried Turkish figs before me, I gazed through the stand of shapely Monterey cypresses to the blue-grey sea beyond. What