My right ear is filled with the noise of rolling waves and the cold tongue of a mean northern wind, while my left side is warmed slightly by the earth's radiation of diffused sunlight. One side longs to sleep, roll up on the comforter covered cot, the other pushes on braving the elements. 
Beyond the lighthouse I'm rewarded with sand paintings gracing the beach.
At 4 p.m. Gary Lilley's group meets at the bunkers for a poetry reading.
Back at the campus it turns out we've missed a fantastic lecture on craft by Kurt Andersen who is the recipient of the David J. Langum, Sr. Prize in American Historical Fiction. We're just in time to help finish off a lovely spread of hors d'oeuvres and wine.
After dinner Kathleen Alcalá reads from The Desert Knows My Name, linking and comparing the age-old Latin American stories about women drowning their children (to ensure them a better fate than life could offer them), with the case of Andrea Yates, the woman in Texas who drowned her offspring.
Serendipity finds us listening to Chris Abani's opening lines which tell about a similar tragedy, followed by his at times heart rendering poetry.
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