Good morning, dearest. Last night I dreamt that I was walking towards you, you were waiting for me on a streetcorner. I was smiling with joy, happy to see you, knowing you were happy to see me. When I reached you, you put your arms around me and kissed me. As I woke this morning I lingered in the sensation of being in your arms, gazing at your beloved face, such a nice way to start the day.

***
I saw the camp manager's write-up yesterday - what a delight! I left a comment to that effect but that blog doesn't seem to publish comments, not that I've ever seen anyway, and they didn't publish mine. I really enjoyed the piece, amusing and full of colorful detail (he has a gift - the writing was charming, sprightly and fresh), and I am very happy to have a much better mental image of what it might be like to be there. (To camp so near the water, that must be amazing! Is there the constant sound of waves?) Plus I am delighted to have new images of you, though they're a little distant, or obscured or indistinct - but still, I'm happy for them.

***
Today promises to be sunny, hot and sultry. Radio's on with a weather signal test. I wonder if we're going to get storms. I wouldn't be surprised.

***

You look for sun, I look for rain
We’re different people, we’re not the same
The power of the sun
I look at treetops, you look for caps
Above the water where the waves snap back
I flew around the world to bring you back
It was the power of your heart
You looked at me, I looked at you
Your sleeping heart was shining through
Wispy cobwebs that we’re breathing through
The power of the heart...

***
I had a wonderful experience at the conservation area yesterday. The morning was cool and fine. I went along the usual paths, exercised with weights in shady spots, paused at the overlook and looked out at the silver river. A Peter Gabriel song (originally by Lou Reed but I don't know that version) came to mind and I sang snippets as I walked -- all around the world the world just to bring you back, it was the power of your heart. I was glad to get out of the sun as the path wound into the woods. Within a shaded glade I rounded a bend and came suddenly upon a young deer. It stood preternaturally still just ahead of me. Peter Gabriel sings, I looked at you, you looked at me. I looked at it, it looked at me. I stood still and spoke softly, hi deer, don't be afraid, it's just me, aren't you beautiful. What strange marvelous creatures they are, otherworldly. Two alien species regarded one another. I was glad to get a good long look at the eloquently expressive yet mute and expressionless creature - paradoxical. I took in its impenetrably dark eyes, jutting ears improbably large for such a narrow ovoid head. The lithe creature was graceful yet at the same time ungainly, as if missing arms, its body massive for such delicate thin legs. The deer grew skittish and pranced in place, looking at me and nervously over its shoulder at the overgrowth, uncertain whether to stay or flee. I spoke to it in soothing tones and it stepped from hoof to hoof like a horse in a paddock. It's the longest encounter I've ever had with a deer, a sustained interval, up close and personal. I took a couple of steps to resume my walk, gently signaling my intention to go in its direction, and spotted another young deer hidden in the brambles, a sibling perhaps which watched us both. I took another step and the deer in a sudden panic turned, bounded into the vegetation, and uttered a cry, which surprised me because I thought that deer are utterly mute - it was a cough-like cry, strangled and inarticulate. The pair of deer momentarily thrashed in the thicket, the racket ceased, and now they were hidden and perfectly still again, watching me perhaps as I walked past. I thought of the past, you thought of what could be. I walked for another twenty minutes or so, returned to the car, started the engine, turned on the radio - and at that precise moment KZE started to play Power of the Heart, amazing. I sang along as I made my way down the dusty dirt drive and turned onto the main road towards home.

***

You know me I like to dream a lot
Of what there is and what there’s not
But mainly I dream of you a lot
The power of your heart
The power of your heart
All around the world to bring you back
It's the power of your heart
The power of your heart

Putting my arms around you, darling, as in a dream. Love and very many kisses.

***

The Power of the Heart

Hey babe. Beautiful mild evening. I just topped off the bird feeder, waved hello to the neighbor girl who sailed down our sunlit dead-end road on her scooter and called out hi to me by name. I did remember her name from when she stopped by last week, but wasn't sure of her young brother's who was with her, also on scooter. It's nice to be addressed by one's name. I would certainly like to return the favor, especially to children.

I've just done some futzing in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, taking chicken off the bone, chopping and spinning romaine. Dinner will be caesar salad with leftover roast chicken and croutons that I make from discounted day-old baguettes from fashionable bakeries (chop up bread, put on baking pan, toss with EVOO and minced garlic, bake til toasted, toss once maybe in the process; let cool; croutons keep well in closed container in fridge.)

Arvada. On the other side of Denver, midway between your zip and Boulder. Which may simply mean that you've migrated upstairs to a study or - well who knows - it doesn't bear guessing really. Your page hits melt like rain.

It was nice to go out to the shed for the bird seed. For one thing, the shed has been completely refurbished by D, a couple of years ago. When we first moved in it had no doors whatever, leaned precipitously, was propped up on one side with two by fours - a complete eyesore mess. D designed and built doors, shored up the structure, did all that was required to fix it up. Now it serves as a very pleasant garden shed. The house still has many an aesthetic issue, but the shed is in my view perfect. I felt like quite the lady of the manner marching to it to fetch bird seed. I'm neatly dressed, my hair which I washed this morning (with a special scrub of neck and ears) was down, and it was just a nice moment of things coming together in a perfect moment - me feeling good, a glass of wine waiting for me inside, a delightful girl calling out to me by name, happy cats, satisfying clasp of the latch as I closed the shed door behind me.

A few years ago, when we first moved up here, we took a spin on a secluded road. It was late day, the sun was golden on the green hills and we passed by a farm...

***
Excerpt from a post from my old Hidden Clapboard blog, 31 May 2005.

...It's late afternoon and we're driving along a back country road in Dutchess County, just over the border from the NW corner of CT. The scenery is especially magnificent, if that's possible in this region of spectacular scenery. Mile after mile of rolling farmland, far-reaching mountain vistas, lakes and streams. We pass a farm, where I glimpse a woman stepping towards her barn. She is tall, her carriage erect and her walk graceful. She wears her golden hair swept back in a loose bun at her nape, just so. She's dressed in casual country attire; slim trousers are tucked in tall boots. Over the barn door hangs a charming rustic wood sign lettered with the name of the farm. Golden light illuminates the pastoral scene. I imagine that she is going to greet her farm animals, happy creatures: she's bringing them a treat. I picture smiling baby goats and lambs. For a moment, it's like driving by a photo spread in a glossy magazine, House & Garden. Sheer, expensive perfection. A picture of rustic simplicity, backed by long-time millions in solid investments...

***
In my blog I went on to discuss an utterly contrasting image, but that's not where my head's at tonight.

Tonight I felt a moment of serene well-being, stepping towards my own shed in beautiful light.

Dearest, wherever you are - southeast, northwest, down the stairs or up - so much love, and very many kisses.

***
I think I'm done and I know you're smart... and mainly I dream of you a lot... the power of your heart...

The Gardner Museum and the Guggenheim Grotto

Dearest, grey today and a cold rain is falling. I'm upstairs with a steaming cup of chicken broth. It’s uncommonly delicious, homemade and redolent of past roast chickens and their seasonings - pan juices, garlic, lemon halves, caramelized onion, garden thyme, plus leek tops, celery bottoms, etc. I was feeling chilled - no more, it's warming me to the bone. I went for a walk around here this morning, then lay down on the sofa with a comforter, and Gwynnie and Claire settled on top of me.

Earlier, I kicked around on the internet and KZE played a very powerful song, The Power of the Heart, heartstoppingly sung by Peter Gabriel. Gorgeous.

...but mainly I dream of you a lot
the power of your heart
all around the world to bring you back
the power of your heart...

A song you don't want to wear out.

As it played I scribbled in my journal. I think I went to a Peter Gabriel concert once. Yes, I'm certain. I went with a friend from work sometime in the mid-eighties. I had to think a minute for his name. Alan. Very nice fellow. We didn’t date but enjoyed each other’s company. He was very amiable, easygoing and game. We went to the theatre a few times, and one time this concert. It was at Carnegie Hall, as I recall. Alan must have invited me. He was a huge fan and incredulous that I was unfamiliar with the music of either Gabriel or Genesis. (As a girl I didn’t hear much pop music beyond what was on top-40 AM radio or otherwise ambient.) What I remember of the concert now is the tiny figure of Peter Gabriel on the distant, darkened stage, washes of lush sound. I liked the music but for the most part I was hearing it for the first time, so I couldn't fully enter it. It didn't matter. I saw my concert companion and his obvious joy. He was thrilled to hear the music of one of his favorite artists, live!

[Ha! as I write and edit this letter - amazing the qualities of iced cherry wine, because after 5 it is that hour for me - a memory of George Stambolian has come up. I remember him describing that so much of the experience of going to the theatre (or a concert) has to do with aspects other than what's transpiring on stage. It's an amalgam of sensations and perceptions, your experience of it - settling in your seat, how you feel about your companion, whether you have an urge to cough and have no lozenge, whether you feel sexy, or hungry, a recollection of having been in the theatre before and a glimmer of a past performance, etc., etc.]

Then, lying on the sofa, I remembered about another friend I had for a while my freshman year in college. The connection was that at one point he too took me to a pop concert – the group Renaissance, playing at Brandeis. At my request, I'm certain. He was very nice too. We didn't date but he was unusually kind and solicitous towards me. I met him because he was the editor, as I recall, of an MIT student paper which solicited freelance submissions from other schools. I wrote a piece on the Gardner Museum in Boston and was very proud when it was published in - brace yourself - The Beaver (giant sarcastic eyeroll).

One of the most beautiful museums in the world is right here in Boston: the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Outside, it is a huge yet unpretentiously designed stone mansion, but inside the museum is a rare and wonderful escape from the hectic city life. It is filled with masterpieces of art, fresh flowers and fountains, and on certain afternoons, strains of chamber music wafting from the upper galleries…

My conscience pricks me a bit with this fellow. I liked him but wasn’t into him. I took him for granted and used him a bit. I wanted to see the Renaissance concert. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he had wheels… Terrible. My conscience pricks me over that. I just googled him. He has obviously done very well for himself – he’s in “wealth management”! Ah, oh well. I do remember that his friendliness and looking out for me was a lifeline for me, on my own my freshman year. Funny how I have sometimes disregarded or discounted that quality in people. A self-defeating streak in me, I think.

A song by the Guggenheim Grotto is playing now, with a delightfully forthright lyric – let’s get naked and get under the sheets. That was the problem with my MIT friend E – I never had any desire to with him.

You, on the other hand.

P.S. I was in the car earlier today and a song - don't know which one now - came on and I had to laugh. That post the other day about "I Want to Ascertain"? God, I can be so wordy and overly literary sometimes. Here's what I mean. I want the whole enchilada!

So many kisses, my love.

hitting send