So it takes loving or at least liking the informality, sort of primitive delight in taking 2 hours to do something you have 14 and 1/2 minutes for in New York... Really, taking out one chair or two to the field with the dandelions knewwhigh and the trees swaying in the mistral, under the overhanging clouds, and grinning foolishly at the sparse sun, or making your way down the narrow passage and the still-too-tall stone steps so labriously put there so many years ago by some cousins. Treading delightedly on the flagstones brought over from Rene Char's all those times back, in our 2CV -- it was the yellow one, I think -- so that we would, as he said, "build our house on poetry." That we did, and still do.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
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