Peter and the wolves
For May: René Girard and Konstantin Korobov
Since it has been raining too steadily for me to sit outside and sand my nubbin of Damascus steel to perfect flatness, somewhat like the old lady the poet once observed grinding an iron rod into a needle (磨杵成针1), and my sprained wrist is not quite healed enough for the thousand natural shocks of the forge, I have to offer up a painting and an irritatingl…