Dear Eric, I am your grandfather's grandfather and through my wakeless sleep I dream of you. I want to meet you somewhere soon. I still have the same black suit and halfwild white beard you've seen in that brown old photograph on the guest room dresser. I was buried in that stiff suit. What clothes do you wear? Are they thick and plain? Walking behind my plow, I keep my eye on my neighbor's land. Where do you plow? I have one fear: that we will meet and fall into enmity. But I have this fever to speak with you, and so I ask you: where can we meet? Samuel Rensberger