must be the clouds in my eyes

I am in possession of a small jar of raw wild honey, lemon curd in color, a summer's work of bees drifting among a local gardener's flowers, distilled, collected, and hardened within a contoured round of glass, end product of an amazing series of intermingled processes, presented to D the other day - and with him placing it directly in my hands - as a little gift. Like an E.D. poem in a jar - transformed elixir, unrevealing of journey, bespeaking time and multitudes - clover, buzzing drones, hot summer days - miraculous and succinct as that.

I think of the ones I love, one I haven't seen in so very long, haven't looked in his eyes in decades, yet remember still. And another who though I have never kissed I've had the luxury to encounter in person - to look in his eyes, register his soul on his face - he's gone now too. Daniel is leaving tonight on a plane, I can see the red tail lights heading for Spain. That's a song I used to try to pick out on piano, though I could never quite capture the lyrics, the garbled way Elton John sang them. Isn't that ironic - after all this longing for someone I have not been permitted to glimpse - to see in person, actually spend a few moments with someone with whom I've suddenly hit it off so well. Now everyone's gone. Looks like Daniel. Must be the - what?? - in his eyes.

The bees died, the hive tipped over evidently in a fierce storm, maybe this last blizzard we had, I'm not sure. The gardener feels guilty that they died on her watch. D will pour a concrete pad for the hive, with room for another because the beekeeping went so well (otherwise) that she wishes to expand the operation. D commends her for feeling regret and chagrin over the loss of the bees, as opposed to simply saying, "Well, I'll just get some more." They banter about this, miming consumerist acquisitive indifference.

Ah, yes - so I'll just get another lover. Ha. Very funny. It's not like that for me, anyway, I can't just light on any male flower. Okay, I know that that metaphor is seriously awry. It just felt really amazingly fantastic to mutually connect with someone, if only for a few delightful, electrifying (if doomed) instants. We're not dead yet, we're not ready for AARP cards, we're not even retired. I'm not retired - I have a new vocation, though unpaid. Really, I shouldn't speed the way I do on the back country roads the way I do considering. I flew back from Great Barrington yesterday, having caught the Hildegard Von Bingen docudrama, Vision, and then stopped by the cheese shop and bought a small wheel of ripe camembert plus a fresh baguette.

Hildegard reminded me of a cross between Emily Dickinson and - maybe - say - Hillary Clinton. A woman of musical, poetic sensibility - given to sudden explosive visions - and a woman of political foresight - of vision, that is, a path to a better way - groomed and finally placed in a position of leadership, where she - who didn't know how to play chess - maneuvered politically in ways she could figure out how. The film was a bit slow, I felt sleepy and sat back in my seat and placed my long tweed coat over me for warmth. But I'm glad I saw it. I've heard bits & pieces of her chanting medieval music for years, and had heard of her, and yet - her time seems so, so remote that I could never quite conjure any kind of sense of her as a person (the way I do, quite vividly now, Emily Dickinson). So now - whether it's accurate or not - I can imagine Hildegard von Bingen, she's perhaps taken a place in my imagination...

I spent the day moving pleasantly through a number of domestic duties. They seemed to flow today, not feel burdensome. Perhaps it was because the sun was out a good bit of the day, and I still have flowers in vases around the house - so with all the light and the flowers, and the house nice & warm - plus the holidays squarely behind, with a fresh new year and the days palpably getting longer, with spring surely on the way - I felt a sense of well-being and hope and a kind of sober, quiet lightheartedness. It might as well have been summer. I baked oatmeal-raisin cookies, there's half a turkey roasting in the oven, with homemade cranberry-orange sauce, and a pan of roasting root vegetables - winter squash, red onion, sweet potato, and carrot, dressed with garlic and olive oil.

It's amazing to think of people who, like Hildegard Von Bingen, were alive 1,000 years ago. And they felt every bit as vital and alive, I'm sure, as I do myself at this very moment. And one day I'll be dead & gone, and another millenium will pass. Perhaps there will be kisses in another realm, even if it isn't quite working out in this one, and I'm not even Catholic, or a nun.

Oh bother. Darlings - all my love, truly. And very many kisses. XOXO

you're a star, in the face of the sky...