For years I confused Saints Dominic and Bernard, to the grave detriment of my relationship with the latter's substantial & sparkling presence in The Perennial Philosophy. Sunset at Oak Hill Cemetery in Brewer, god-bodkin blood leaking up under black trees' bared teeth in the middle distance: Flannery O'Connor. Fannie Hardy Eckstorm is buried here, somewhere under all this Christmas snow. I can't find her today, my usual knack (which brought me & my bike pauselessly direct to Timothy Swan's white obelisk back in October, Northfield) falters. Walking the Joshua Chamberlain bridge back over the Penobscot Bangorward I'm singing "Kwe ya he no" and thinking on poor Jael Hilderbrand of Pleasant Point.
