A small sophisticated elegantly sentimental journey through a New Hampshire village summer. Our companions are an aging poet who is sad because he can no longer write―he has lost the joy he used to have in simply being alive–and a young mischievous female donkey who is sad because she can''t run and play―she has a touch of arthritis. . . . There is a moral of course but any moral looks dull next to the simple happiness of the old poet and his long-eared muse.―The New Yorker