If the days appear skewed toward the positive, it has to do with the quiet hours that allow me to move ahead, slowly, methodically. The weather doesn't distract me -- I don't even take a cafe break, I bring the coffee back to my window looking out on Bascom and I watch people walk up the hill, down the hill, with white strings dripping from their ears, or, like these two, all arms and lips, dripping with love.
They stand, they kiss -- he her, then she him ...up the hill they go, still kissing, connected in lush, splendid love.
By night, I am still at the window, but I can't see them now. Too dark, too late. Or maybe not? Are they hidden, somewhere, kissing, because surely they haven't had enough? In the dark shadows of the giant elms, fiercely in love?
Probably not. But maybe.