I have long loved John Steinbeck. On my last day in Texas I bought a beautiful edition of East of Eden, printed on rough cut heavy paper. And I am am reading it slowly. This is not a book I want to end, I want to live with this story and let it live with me.
And today Samuel Hamilton died. Samuel was of Irish stock, and worked barren land for all his long life. But he was of such richness of character, and such weightyness that he is for me a icon – in the full sense of that word. A representation of an ideal, and perhaps of God. And today, on this beautiful autumn day he died, as I knew he would, but I had to stop and savour one of those characters who will dwell in me.