The first few hoofbeats
April is the cruellest month, breedingLilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.–“The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot Adding myself to the legions who have quoted Eliot’s words out of context, I drove onto the barren grounds of the Oklahoma on Saturday morning. Early balminess had given way to gray chill;…