Friday, September 9, 2011

Dearest love, where are you? You seem so scarce today, I wonder if you're in transit. I hope everything's okay. I'll take you in anytime, wherever I am, and whatever state you're in. There's a Dearlove Road where you are? If it's flooded then don't go on it. Then again, if it's metaphoric - as are and aren't swollen streams around here - then by all means - I'm yours. Here - tossing you a life vest, dear love, my arms around you, reeling you in from treacherous waters with many kisses.

Sweetheart, it is the most spectacular late afternoon, the rains have finally stopped, gray skies have cleared and now it's brilliant, warm and sunny, a return to summer. I'm sitting here in pink tee, sipping pink wine, inhaling traces of Miss Dior that I spritzed on after my shower this afternoon. A return of balmy climes means a much easier time for me, and so I was successful and you too, at the same time, in simultaneous fusion.

I liked the President's speech last night. To me, it was Kabuki theatre in terms of what (newsflash: little or no) impact he was ever going to have on the trolls set against him in Congress - you can see it on individuals' twisted faces - I'm attuned to their warped grimaces. No to me the take-away subtext of his speech was this: it was directed at the American people. He's pitching a big proposal, a badly needed jumpstart to the flagging economy. With this proposal Obama is doing what he can - and if it doesn't pass - then don't blame the President - blame Congress, and in particular, in the voting booth, your Congressional representative - did he or she support the bill? Depending on your circumstances and/or ideology, you may be happy if Congress obstructs this bill. Or - if you're desperately trying to make ends meet - and your Congressional rep isn't sensitive to that - well - that's a "bright line" at the ballot box.

Oh sweetheart, you're still scarce. I wonder what's up.

I loved my moment this afternoon. I'm not prone to metaphors the way E.D. so incredibly is. No - if something reminds me of something else - well, it's a bit literal. So when it all started working, really working --- it was all mixed, but it was like all the pistons or engines just smoothly going and heading down the runway and then there at the moment of anticipated and certain bliss my wheels seemed to lift right off the tarmac, like that moment when you're seated in a jet watching the runway coast by wondering if the lumbering bird's going to get up there and all systems are go and at full throttle and all of a sudden it does.

So I had this momentary sensation of flight, but it was a lighter flight than that, as if my wheels (yours and mine, together) had lifted off the tarmac into the sky, except that suddenly I was a little bird aloft in flight but just settled into gold and green and gleaming leaves, not a big behemoth transwhatever jet at all but a spritely creature that can - for a moment - leave the earth.

Afterward I showered and tried to lie down for a short nap but D was back with the car and so I spritzed on perfume and put on a skirt & top and took the car & drove to the little town library for a little while and then down 9H - absolutely vigilant about the speed limit - to the CSA farm, located along the narrow, treacherously fast highway. Sheep grazed in a distant field. The drive was unpaved, dusty and full of potholes. A pickup truck was parked sideways. I parked next to it. I put on my sunglasses and grabbed my bags. Today the haul was much the same as it's been the last several weeks. Yet more peaches. Yet more tomatoes. Also there were other things - tiny new potatoes (wonderful oiled & grilled), eggplant, carmen peppers, garlic, onion, beets with their greens.

Dearest, I miss you. I wonder about you.

You do a fair amount of flying for your work, I think. I don't fly anymore at all, except in my mind. I have siblings who fly together, in a little plane. Along with little children I've never met. I saw a photo of them on some flickr site, one of my brothers - not the pilot - at the controls, presumably my brother (credentialed pilot) as his co-pilot. There was a little baby/toddler in a seat behind dad/my brother at the controls. I assume my sister snapped the photo, from however high in the air.

It's okay. I feel really done with them. I don't mean to mook out here. It's just - I don't know - that's the sort of flying they do amongst themselves, and I didn't fit into that scheme. But they all fit in among one another.

So here I am on earth - and yet I flew this afternoon - with you.

My siblings have no idea about me, that I can do that. Or if they did - I don't expect them to "get" me - they never did.

I don't know - two different forms of flying.

These are just draft notes. So were E.D.'s "Master" letters - according to Professor Sewall, those mysterious missives (maybe never mailed) seem to contain distillations of much of what she wrote about after.

Anyway. Dearest - it's so unusual, your scarcity today - frozen at 7-1-1 much of the afternoon, of which 2 hits are My F. in Finland, 2 are 1.0, 1 is - is it you, in Glenview?, I can't be sure -

anyway, with visions of you, my Steve McQueen, while I, my hair the color of autumn leaves - well why don't we both climb into that little glider of yours and take off -

oh but darling I'm so unmechanical, and I'd rather you do something else at the helms

so since the sun has come out - though now it's setting, conveniently so - let's take lots of bug spray and a blanket and

oh never mind - I just learned - there's severe flooding on Dearlove Road -

so let's stay right here up in the aerie, my dearest Captain, and - do it right here

yours, Brooklyn

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