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.
Just when I think you have attained every level of perfection, you push that envelope right on out.
ReplyDeleteDang, girl.
BEAUTIFUL!
ReplyDeleteApplause, applause!
ReplyDeleteAnd what a pleasure it was to hear you read your words last night.
ReplyDeleteLove it! I read "The End of the Affair" years ago. What is a Moscow Mule -- a vodka drink, I'm guessing? I have to look that one up.
ReplyDeleteOops! I'm wrong. I read "The Heart of the Matter," not "The End of the Affair." Another one for the bookshelf!
ReplyDeleteperfection.
ReplyDeleteI would like a sip of that Mule. Oh...who am I kidding. I would like to take the Mule for my own.
ReplyDelete