Formal Portrait

When I say it that way, I feel myself growing stiff, artificial, a deer caught in someone’s headlights. But whether I am ready or not, the photographer and his wife will arrive this afternoon at three.

Buck says we must do this: one last grand photo session of the two of us before we grow too old in our vanity to allow any more photos of ourselves.

He turns 80 in three weeks, still handsome as a matinee idol, strong as a stuntman, fascinating and mysterious as a thrilling stranger, comforting as a baby blanket.