William Ward Beecher

On one of the first cooler mornings August 2005 had seen, Bill Beecher sat in a sunny corner of his porch, classical music playing at his side, and almost completely surrounded by the white blossoms of an eight-foot tall fragrant hydrangea buzzing with hundreds of bees. For a moment time stood still; a hummingbird flew into the hummingbird feeder and out again, filtered sunlight settled across the porch and Bill, Hemingwayesque in a white shirt and white hat, sat reading Art in America.