Ah, Peter. I was Looking at America just now. Something’s missing out there. Same place, but different. It’s all still there, the things you wrote about; highways and cityscapes and patches of the great land; stretches and corners and vistas and facts and faces rendered poetic by the genial, sharp edge of your mind. In all of your writing I could hear music where only the written word played – where the word danced, sure and precise; graceful and powerful. I haven’t heard your voice since we were kids, all those long years ago. But, I heard you, when I read you. Thanks for sharing your view, and your brilliance. And, your soul. It was always a great ride. America is out there, still. But, someone is missing.

I wanted to say Rest In Peace, and I certainly hope that you are at peace, but I can’t imagine you resting for very long. Be Restless In Peace, Peter. Be up and about, writing and talking and teaching and riding and laughing and guitaring and singing and loving and sharing and thinking and wondering – In Peace.

Your old friend,

Tom