Re: waving westward from the midwest

well hello,

curry, chocolate, pen, and wine. these are my vices. these are the stains on the sleeves of my favorite wool sweater. they follow me through this day, dogging my memory with savory evenings in the arms of friends, lowlight affairs with scintillating flavors and laughter to spill you right over your brim. in so many ways they've bound themselves to me, settling under my skin and percolating out when least expected, these memories. so easy and free they come like true friends that have no need for you to set the stage and then play audience to this grand dance, extending horizons from our fingertips until we find the vanishing point we've been peeling our eyes for. they are, each and together, an invitation to join in the (r)evolution that sees each layer we peel off, a new face, a new outlook, a new partial perspective that will again be shed over time, piece by piece as we rub shoulders in the dialogue of this life. and so vice to vice, wanderlust and leisure commingling with sweatdrenched brow and capable hands to craft days like we've never seen before.

I've heard of you even before your border hopping begins. need a lift? my friend jamie is going back to her apartment in Miltown tomorrow eve - she's staying until friday and then driving back up if you'd like to chip in and tag along. if you would be interested or need a backup plan here is her number: ( ). She has to be down there for those days being productive but, you see, she is an artist so it is possibly the best sort of productivity with which to take the first midwestern steps. she lives in a housefull of artfull women who are welcoming to gypsies, couchsurfers, and tall tale tellers. she's quite lovely, and may need help with a soundtrack.

there are so many ways to get these hands on the good earth, different roots and routes to follow in order to explore these new ideas carefully cultivated over the winter months. how do we not talk all day and night of these things - that grow and pollinate and nourish - i am trying to remember it is a means to an end, all of it, and not an end in itself. this is cryptic perhaps. i am brushing just the hem of much greater weavings tonight, perhaps unable to commit at the moment to tying off the strands i've been playing with all day.

Oh if you'd be swinging in this hammock beside me perhaps i could articulate in a different dimension, perhaps humming along with these robinredbreasts that wing away the day until there is nothing left but the soft allure of sundown filtered through this sometimespring that seems intent to follow her winter lover further north and leave us, mere beings, here to gather more bits of this life to build the world we dream to be, waking, hopefully sapient, quietly robust, (r)evolving in the unknowing that takes all day to begin... your ways and whiles, friend, have taken you to those distant shores and I am here in this hammock of swingsong good ready to hear tales to be told 'round the fire so start at the beginning now and i'll meet you halfways through and we can go searching for what is meant to be continued...

i can see you dancing on the horizon. come here, you and that instrument, and wander this driftless state a while.

yours and mine
ellie