Friday, May 17, 2013
Words and Mules
Last night I drove east while Mr. Darcy read The End of the Affair to me and even though the mountains were a postcard backdrop to the winding road and the sky above a hazy gray, it was words that enveloped me, perfect English words, strung together just so, so that I knew nothing but the story and the story was mine, remembered. Naked, we wrap ourselves in words, and stories find us precisely at the moment they should, where the sky meets the mountain and the mountain meets the road and the road meets us, hurtling forward. A Moscow Mule at the end, with a moon slice of lime.