<p>He roams New England, Arkansas, the Caribbean, Nova Scotia and the familiar and odd plots of mind and thought. He explores shorelines and climbs &ldquo;hillish&rdquo; mountains. He sits on porches and talks to passersby and their dogs. He meets strange and delightful people, most of whom are real. &ldquo;Reading Pickering,&rdquo; a reviewer wrote in&nbsp;<em>The Smithsonian</em>&nbsp;decades ago, &ldquo;is like taking a walk with your oldest, wittiest friend.&rdquo; &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; Pickering says, &ldquo;I am old, and the friends who thought me witty have fallen off the perch. But that&rsquo;s okay. What I write makes me smile and mutter, &lsquo;What a guy.&rsquo;&rdquo; And what wonderful essays these are&mdash;pages that awaken the affections and make readers smile and embrace the beauty of this bruised world.</p>