The recent death of my golden retriever, 17 year-old Popcorn, has lead me to seek comfort from dusty relics of my youth. This book cover by Milton Glaser is an old friend I can see with my eyes closed. The book, by Hermann Hesse, belonged to my Dad. I read it for the first time in high school, when I would walk Popcorn up the hill and dream of leaving my tiny Vermont town. Rereading the book now, it is satisfying to discover how much of its spirit has rubbed off on me, but that I have also outgrown some of Peter's qualities that I used to fear were mine forever.
The photo is my own.
