The Progamme note for a reading of Big White Fog in NYC in 1980. Theodore Ward
As a young man, travelling across the United States, hoboing on a westbound freight train through the Rocky Mountains, I found myself at the Great Horseshoe Bend. Seated in the open doorway of the boxcar in which I was riding, I was enthralled by the overpowering beauty and strength of the towering hills, and the vast declivity to the valley beneath with its shrubbery of gold and red and brown bathed in the light of the sinking sun - the sides of the mountains themselves with their tall trees tinged with the amber
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