Weird– today is officially Annie Dillard day, because I searched for my review of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and found that I finished it a year ago today. Which must be why I was compelled to make a journey this morning during a window between rain spurts to the main library so that I could dig through their Annie Dillard stacks. I came away with this slender volume, along with a collection of 3 of her other works. But honestly, this one fell short for me. I’m a fan of Dillard, and a lover of the Pacific Northwest, but the overindulgence of “God” in this leaves my head hurting. Best thing I got out of it was the recommendation for a book about Rimbaud. Dillard most recently rose to mind due to paging through the latest issue of The Atlantic, wherein William Deresiewicz somewhat tears her apart for her decade-long silence.