“Losing your way in writing is good and bad. Good is the possible finding of the way back, that shifty process of discovery, disclosure, random foraging. But being lost is free fall. You’re out of control. One morning you wake to the sort of day or condition of soul when sensation is so heightened that it awes and frightens. Foliage whisking outside the window sounds like big breakers hitting the beach; bird-song so magnified it seems aberrant, more inside than outside the skull; bus doors hiss shut like pressure valves exploding; a plane so high and silent that it looks about to vaporize. Everything terribly keyed-up, and you feel at once exposed and protected. Your ears mute the sound and resonance of your own voice—you’re talking into a scarf or stiff wind.”

by W. S. Di Piero