on your windowpane

Hello darling. Joy does kill sorrow. I was mooking out a bit earlier and then Willie Nile's Her Love Falls Like Rain came on, an expansively lush, gorgeous song. Whenever I hear it I think, I hope that's how I make you feel - that you experience my love as falling on you like rain.* That thought never fails to make me happy, as it did while I stood in the kitchen rinsing broccoli rabe. A few songs later KZE played Send Me a Letter by Joy Kills Sorrow - so here you are, my love.

It's beautiful here today, sunny and in the 60s. I made California omelet for breakfast (Tim Easton just sang Kal-i-for-nye-aye as I typed the word), with sourdough bread - wonderfully sour - courtesy of our neighbors who brought it for us from Manhattan. Eating very well today (do most days, actually). For lunch I made a pasta sauce of ground turkey, tomato, garlic, stock, and broccoli rabe, topped with grated parmesan, a condiment that I would wish to have with me if stranded on a desert island.

Went for a walk at the conservation area, where the groundskeeper sitting high on his mowing tractor idled the thunderous engine until I passed - a rather courtly gesture, I thought. Then I took a spin to the library, and came away with the novel The Secret Life of Emily Dickinson, by Jerome Charyn, which perhaps I'll start this afternoon. I like the epigram - To shut our eyes is Travel, Emily wrote in 1870. To shut my eyes is to kiss you, my dearest. I hope your day is going well.

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*Your page hits fall like golfball-sized hail...