Just to Say, as you departed… I saw you take your seat before the train arranged its linkings on the track, spewed and shouted, moved like thunder cracking, across the aisle where our eyes would not meet to answer my last query. I believed I’d soon grow teary as the dark beast lumbered on but found that I too have a freshened view and see that I am as relieved as you. Assisi Once Upon a Time Dear One, You must, must! know about the olive trees, their subtle grayish sheen, so you will understand why I stay and will stay--- to hear the bells that wake each day to these. And oh, yes, the slender cobbled road, the grape vines draped across their housings as they drowse, and hay swept and gathered tight in pointed home-like shapes beside the hill.
Did I Mention Did I mention how kind and light I grew when I turned this morning to the atrium, its brick still wet with dew, where the red tin table waits always beside the lavender, and water bubbles from a pipe in the little pond? Not only that: a hummingbird dipped in and fed! Yet you were gone. Come back and see. I beg you to.
Something Today about Soup I had not recognized when I sat down to eat that the good of soup, besides its ease, is heat. Its steaming, on the whole, caresses, warms, tucks into winter noon a swoon of nurture virtuously savored, and allows me then to stoop to have a chocolate or a piece of cake, so favored over soup. Par Avion March 17, 1963 Dear one, my dear, still having fun and studying French things here. Last night a parade, the band that marched loud and shrill for some fête and stirred a well l ike a green drink fizzed and I stepped in, joined them, marched my solo self, some free-verse in mind without of course an instrument (you’ve said I have no ear, can’t keep time) but without fear, just—you’ll love this-- a brand-new something rising with its boom-boom-earth-deep voice, me singing so loud I seemed in tune: see me, see me, and the tuba player, why, he (don’t look) gusted me forward with that huge breath, up like a wild storm twisting me high, and sorry, but I stopped to kiss him when he released his lips and shiny it was, there left on the ground, the tuba insisting, and shiny what I’d found. From Bergamo Dear Friend, The snow fell hard on our valley and morning crouched in our glittery eyes and in our huddled bones. For the ride from here to there the children pulled wool caps--the ones you knitted-- down to their eyes and I, two scarves, and all of us wrapped like sheep. But the men repairing roads outside the upper city toiled in short-sleeve tees, their cold-scalded skin a rosy pink. They, undisturbed, waved us by, talking to each other with their hands, and I've been wondering how perception, one day to the next alters one's reception of hot or cold, pain, or can or can't, how it selects; and if there exist no absolutes, but only elements in flex.