
. . . still dream of flying
. . . “You and your symbols,” is what my dancing friend said when recently I, forgetting myself, waxed ecstatic describing the shabby but grace-full, fox-trotting middle-aged couple I saw enact the lightness and forbearing unity that is one kind of marriage. She was shaking her head at me like I made these things up myself.
But did I do this? Did I arrange the plot so neatly? Did I set out to begin and end this long, overlong, stretched-over-two-years-long, who-am-I-and-where-am-I-going scene like this? I did not.
Pigeons and funerals? Not me. I’m just catching Thy joke. Appreciating Thy sly wit. . . .
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[story: "FEBRUARY 32, 2011 - the end "]



