4 p.m. Dearest love, I'm sitting on the porch with a cup of tea, a 30-minute flurry of housework behind me. Dinner is underway, a sauce of crumbled turkey sausage, garlic, broccoli rabe and chicken stock that will join up with penne. Spring really seems to be here - earlier, I'm certain. With climate change, adjustments may have to be made. Such as - April is the cruelest month, with life returning? Make that mid-March. Mash with Ides.
Read more of Udolpho. It has some - many - gems of observations on Love. Here's one that reminded me, of course, of you and me. Of the young lovers Emily and Valoncourt, "They were both too much engaged by the present moments to give serious consideration to the future. They loved and were beloved, and saw not, that the very attachment, which formed the delight of their present days, might possibly occasion the sufferings of years."
I wonder what you are doing. You know much more about me than I do about you. I know nothing of your whereabouts or activities. I have inklings - but how tethered are they to reality? Really, all I have are hope and faith, by turns buoyed or dashed by reason and my imagination.
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