Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I want to say that - a bunch of things helped me think through this -- your abiding presence, dearest, I could tell you were thinking of me, and I cannot tell you how immeasurably important and precious that has been to me -- your great warmth & caring -- always shining through. And also -- well - yet again - that guy who used to live across the street from me -- I had googled him the other day in connection with his poetry, and found a poem of his that unexpectedly very very strongly resonated with me, in the current context. Here is the link.
Darling, this is the least poetic post ever - I'm just going to set it out -- I am not a peacock, and that's that. I have no business with peacocks. And if by any wild chance the "Letter Writer" is reading this -- that would be my simple advice to you too --- because perhaps you and I are not dissimilar birds of a feather. It's not that he's "above our league" -- it's that he's a peacock! And we're more like mourning doves, or female cardinals, or raspberry-dipped finches. Which is awesome! My dear woman, I'm so sorry about what happened to you in your youth - but I sense that you have a lot to give - you write beautifully - go find your mate -- who loves you, and wants to be with you - because you're a towhee or a waxwing!
And that is precisely the advice I'm giving myself, and I feel very buoyed by it.
And darling -- I am so so glad and delighted and everything else that you're not a peacock --
I wonder if the library system might consider this book -- because with you, my love, I might just want to, at the right moment, moan like a moorhen...
love you so much
top: Marsh Warblers
Hand-colored lithographs, from John Gould's The Birds of Great Britain, 1862-1873