. . . 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. . . .

.

[story: “FEBRUARY 32, 2011 – the end “]

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