Sunday, June 5
I’m sitting in my hotel room, the window wide open, a steep hill of pines and plane trees climbing across the way. The Tuscia, this area north of Rome, is much greener than I’d expected, its sharp hills and mountains rising from the broad plain below. Only a few hours ago I was buffeted by the weekend bustle of da Vinci Airport in Rome, worried—as I always worry—about the new Kenyon Review Writers Workshop about to begin. But this one is in Italy—a far cry from the well-known paths of Gambier.
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