Dear Cyndy,

It's been ten days since your letter came. I thank you for writing 
and I apologize, perhaps unnecessarily, for the delay of my answer.
Time has passed very quickly. I've been writing sonnets, by now 115
in number, probably too many. On odd days I think they're miserable;
on even days, I think they're passable. Makes no difference since no
one reads them. I conclude that the pursuit of literary fame is a
delusion, a sentiment surely attributable to the sour grapes reflex.
I still can't contemplate that I am surviving without Margaret, but
such is the case. I'm worried that I might live too long, that I might
outlive my mental capacity, - perhaps that's already true. Arguably
I should interpret my feeling that the nation is insane to reflect the
fact that I am insane.

I must discipline my mind to better writing; the sonnet style, I fear,
has become an excuse for elliptical and obscure expression. When I write
that I'm never satisfied with my writing, I remember that is how it 
should be. 

Next Saturday, June 25, I will make the 175 mile drive to the Charlotte NC
airport to meet Klemens. We will drive back to Belmont no later than
Wednesday the 29th. I hope to return to Konnarock later in the summer.
Just when, I don't know. The date for the appeals court hearing has not yet 
been set.

The weather has been very pleasant. The mountains and valleys seem more
beautiful than ever. I am grateful to be able to enjoy the solitude as
much as I do. I hope that you are feeling a bit better than in the
recent past and send you and Ned my very best wishes.

Jochen