naturalist

There is an artful delicacy with which the author, Richard Taylor, brings me as a reader of his book, into his rural world. A place where the priority of caring and the acceptance of an inoculate fate of frailty and mortality are inherent in being alive. I found myself sprawled on my bed, in the mid-afternoon sunlight spilling through the large windows of my pine encased bedroom with my one-eyed cat, reading aloud the typed lines on these aesthetically thought-provoking pages as Debussy played on an LP in another room.