(searching for a nova scotia cottage) how could hank snow befriend elvis? when he said brooklyn presley thought borough, frets still warm amid polite inquiry, perspiration and smoke. followed by the invitation to visit seabirds cradling rainbow buoys and buffering borderless trees, he knew their common chorus— an appalachia of birds— often sang with homesick voices. have ya been ev’ryweir? the king asking, a’freyed his guitar might become lonely in the undercarriage of the lanky greyhound so far from nashville, i gotta long way ta go, hank yodelling back, ’n yer comin’ wit me.