a light on

Dearest love, after I hit send I went outside and while watering one of the flower borders spotted a bee having its way with the cranesbill geranium. Many are lovely, but you exceed all - the bee certainly seemed to think so. I ran in for the camera, regretting that the epiphany was belated, because it would have made the perfect final image to the last post. By all means read all manner of ardent, insatiable meaning into the image now, my dear bee, or flower, whichever you like, we can switch off.

I did a good 40 minutes of weeding, which hardly made a dent though I hauled quite a bit to the back weed pile. I might have weeded more but it began to rain, thankfully, because it was reason to stop and also because the garden could use it. The rain is coming down hard now, and the cats are on the protected porch, enjoying it like seasoned campers. They are a funny crew. I leave the back door open for them all day, and they waltz in and out as they please, hanging on the porch listening to the radio, or in the woodland garden too, because with windows open you can hear the music there, as I know from dragging the hose there today and finding Penelope ensconced by a Wave Hill chair.

Thunder now. I picked a few wildflowers this afternoon and put them in a glass. They get lost in the garden but are a revelation close up. I didn't know the names so I asked D a favor (you can say no) to run up to the nursery to ask the owner. (He's very friendly and though we're not his flushest customers, D came back with wildflower ID's, plus tomatoes, peppers, basil, etc. that he'll plant in the vegetable beds tomorrow.) The nurseryman identified deadly nightshade (oh!), buttercup, and what as a child he had known as Indian paintbrush. I think these are the very sorts of flowers that ED grooved on. They have such a rare delicacy, botanical drawings without the colored pencil, the thing itself, yet miniature works of art. I suppose flowers to her were as butterflies to Nabokov.

Bring the Bringdown is on now. Love that song. So langorous and seductive. I just start moving and swaying to it. Do you listen to music much, I wonder? I wish you could hear the songs I love best - maybe you'd like them too. Or even if you're indifferent you'd smile abstractedly (though not insincerely) simply because I like them. Do you have a good station where you are? (It's hard to ask for more than one.) NYC was mostly a radio wasteland except for WNYC (NPR) and WFUV, a Fordham University station, which plays great indie music unless they're broadcasting a Catholic mass, football game, or Celtic. But we couldn't get it at in our apartment in Brooklyn - so I learned about new songs only when we were in the car outside the borough. Up here radio's not bad - there are oases - an NPR station, a station out of Woodstock that plays decent music although a little too "rock" for me, and KZE, which hands down is the best radio station I've ever heard in my life. So I'm wondering if you have a comparable station. Maybe you are familiar with the "musical diversity" that I'm enjoying. Maybe you listen to it in the car (or new truck?) when you drive down lonesome highways, composing your book.

What a ramble, dearest, but I just want to feel close to you, so to keep typing is a way to do that. Sun's back out now and the rain is gone - all in a matter of 20 minutes. Oh great, Penelope just came upstairs only to throw up on the little rug in front of the bathroom. There was no way to leap from my seat in time to get her to do it on the floor where I could at least easily wipe it up.

I have paused to wonder - why am I feeling especially anxiously wanting to feel close? I've been getting an elevated number of page hits the last couple of days, which is nice (though not something I'm really looking for), but then yours gets bumped down the page which makes you feel further away. I like it when you're right on top. I really appreciate the page hits from the E.D./Charyn connection. But I am also getting a number of mysterious page hits with regard to the image of a Da Vinci painting that I included with a post back in December. This afternoon alone I received three page hits based on it, from Norway; Leicester, U.K.; and [just checked] Israel. Not just Europe. Very strange. Those page hits aren't necessarily so welcome since there seems to be some agenda (?) afoot that I can't figure out.

But then sometimes there are utterly delightful page hits, via offbeat google searches. Here's one from Phoenix, AZ the other day - "Jane Austen writes of placing a lantern in her window to tell her friends that there is a message in the tree." I just love that. That's what a page hit from you is like for me - a lantern you've put in your window, that I can see. Oh darling.

Why does that sound so familiar? Emily Dickinson did something similar. Here's a relevant bit from an NPR piece:

She wrote most of her poetry sitting at a small desk... she would go out to visit her brother and sister-in-law next door, come back, and then light a lamp in the window to let them know she had returned...

I think of you. You think of me. I am here, darling. Very many kisses. I love you. Have a wonderful evening.