To the dead storytellers who have come to me, shared a campfire and a cup of coffee, under stars, in my dreams--echoes of their words in mine
To Syne Mitchell, who was with this story from its conception onthe porch swing in the middle of a lightning storm, through famine and hurricane, though the spring orange blossoms and groves of basil, across the country three times, lost in Texas, with me every step of the way down our own Dai Esthai...my gratitude and love.