Thursday, March 17, 2011

My dear, just a quick post tonight. I'm going out in a little while to see a time-delayed broadcast from the National Theatre in London of a production of Frankenstein, a metaphor that seems all too grimly apropos these days, what with monsters of human creation turning to overwhelm us with a vengeance.

How are you, I wonder? Is it springtime where you are? It certainly is here, it seems miraculous, the sun and suddenly mild temperatures, so balmy that I hung laundry out to dry this afternoon. On my walk this morning I saw beautiful iterations of "midwinter spring," grimy remnants of snow banks and poised above them, springing from elemental rock and earth and roots, unfurling ferns and bright green mosses.

Other than that I vacuumed the house, took a nap, cooked breakfast (spinach omelet with feta) and made caesar dressing and salad for lunch (another delicious variation for the roast half-turkey that keeps on giving). My mind's in a jumble now, I'm having a glass of wine because I can hardly resist at this hour but of course don't wish to have too much before the show. Pleasant sensations here and there today. At the front of the drive of someone's house on my walk, a pile of downed pine branches producing a lingering Christmasy scent as I passed. Neighbor's chickens this morning perched on a low branch or fencing, I couldn't tell what - they looked so funny as if pinned on a line, "six hens a laying." The rat problem seems to have abated, apparently D was quite clever about where he set the poison. Neighbor has given us some of her eggs, which I eat with a tad of trepidation. But D assures me that she says she eats them too - rinsing them first!, so if we go - well, I guess we all go. The long trailing fronds of willows when not yet in leaf are a bright unexpected yellow. I think of you as the hours go by, and I mentally tick off the days. I think of you on my walks - up hills and down dales my imagination runs free; in bed under the covers waking up (though lately "ten tons of fun" fireplug Claire has been leaping up on the bed, landing on my back with a thud, and settling on top of me - her additional presence constituting a ménage à trois I could do without); or just as I am now, clothed in jeans, tee, and a black sweater, seated at my desk at this peaceful, in-between hour while pot pie for supper warms in the oven. I will whisper in your ear the nature of what I think about when I think about you...

Many kisses, darling. Sweet dreams. A bientôt.

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