November 5th

I was far away, standing in the rain before the sleeping lion of Lucerne, a colossal, noble, stoic lion carved from the rock of a low cliff. The rain fell, obscuring tears. I knew that I would see Sam again somewhere in the landscape of dream, but at that moment I imagined I was back in Kentucky, with the rolling fields and the creek that widens into a small river. I pictured Sam’s books lining the shelves, his boots lined against the wall, beneath the window where he would watch the horses grazing by the wooden fence. I pictured myself sitting at the kitchen table, reaching for that tattooed hand.

A long time ago, Sam sent me a letter. A long one, where he told me of a dream that he had hoped would never end. “He dreams of horses,” I told the lion. “Fix it for him, will you? Have Big Red waiting for him, a true champion. He won’t need a saddle, he won’t need anything.” I headed to the French border, a crescent moon rising in the black sky. I said goodbye to my buddy, calling to him, in the dead of night. -excerpt from the essay “My Buddy” by Patti Smith in The New Yorker

You know what today is don’t you?

It’s Sam Shepard’s birthday! He would’ve been 81 today. Happy birthday to the legend and fellow Scorpio brother.

If you’re looking for a break from today’s maddening and non-stop election news cycle, then why not celebrate Sam and read one of his great plays. Or his book of short stories, poems and monologues, Hawk Moon. Or one of my personal favorites, his quasi-diary of autobiographical reveries, Motel Chronicles.

And for a few minutes of levity, check out this clip of Sam and Patti playing music together. It will make you smile.