This is just a little post for an update: leaving for the airport in five and a half hours to head for home. Which involves an entire day of airports and airplanes. So not feeling so good now...sad, and kind of sick (like after drinking too much coffee) which i think is emotion-based, and already exhausted from a trip that hasn't happened yet.
Still, i wouldn't give up any bit of this experience for anything.
(In that sense, bring on the tears, cause at least it means i'm connected here).
(There are stories about various leaving parties and such, but they'll have to wait until i'm home and wondering what to do when i'm not surrounded by people all the time. :)
so, until then, please send all the spare well-wishes-for-flying thoughts you may have my way....and i'll see you on the other side of the Atlantic.
LOVE.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
a story
(This is a story I was asked to write and fit into one page, by P. Now I'm to shorten it by half. It's fun -- reminds me of the good times of wine and cheese and writing parties with the playwriting class. :))
LOVE.
The Queen And The Soldier (or, A Problem We Never Have In Ireland)
The queen sat on the largest throne in the longest room under the tallest tower of her castle, and waited. Every day she arose, ate, walked her gardens which raged forth under the sun, and sat on her throne. Every day, the sole person over whom she ruled entered the throne room, knelt, and reported on the state of the queendom. Rarely did things happen outside the throne room -- and, if they did, they were addressed by the soldier on his rounds. Nothing reached this queen who had no beginning, but simply was. Every day the queen rose, ate, walked and waited while the soldier patrolled and reported and the stones of the castle grew warm under the sun. Every day, until one day something changed. "Queen," said the soldier, "the horizons grow dark." She nodded and said nothing. The day ended. The next morning, the soldier appeared early to the throne room. He was flushed, windswept. "Queen," said he, "the horizons grow darker." She smiled and said nothing. The day ended. The next morning the soldier appeared, breathless, as the queen walked the hall to the throne room. "Queen," said he, "they grow still darker. Clouds are amassing." She put a hand on his shoulder, and said nothing. The day ended -- the next morning, the soldier appeared before she finished her walk in the garden, for he had not ridden out this day. He had not needed to, but had watched the sky through the windows as he ran to her. He stood before her on the garden path and said, "Queen, the dark has reached our doorstep. The storm is upon us." He fell to his knees as the sun faded behind a roiling cloud. "Why do you say nothing," he cried, "when it is only the two of us against this storm and I am afraid?" The queen smiled, softly kissed the top of his head, and said,
"Are you not tired of the sun?"
LOVE.
The Queen And The Soldier (or, A Problem We Never Have In Ireland)
The queen sat on the largest throne in the longest room under the tallest tower of her castle, and waited. Every day she arose, ate, walked her gardens which raged forth under the sun, and sat on her throne. Every day, the sole person over whom she ruled entered the throne room, knelt, and reported on the state of the queendom. Rarely did things happen outside the throne room -- and, if they did, they were addressed by the soldier on his rounds. Nothing reached this queen who had no beginning, but simply was. Every day the queen rose, ate, walked and waited while the soldier patrolled and reported and the stones of the castle grew warm under the sun. Every day, until one day something changed. "Queen," said the soldier, "the horizons grow dark." She nodded and said nothing. The day ended. The next morning, the soldier appeared early to the throne room. He was flushed, windswept. "Queen," said he, "the horizons grow darker." She smiled and said nothing. The day ended. The next morning the soldier appeared, breathless, as the queen walked the hall to the throne room. "Queen," said he, "they grow still darker. Clouds are amassing." She put a hand on his shoulder, and said nothing. The day ended -- the next morning, the soldier appeared before she finished her walk in the garden, for he had not ridden out this day. He had not needed to, but had watched the sky through the windows as he ran to her. He stood before her on the garden path and said, "Queen, the dark has reached our doorstep. The storm is upon us." He fell to his knees as the sun faded behind a roiling cloud. "Why do you say nothing," he cried, "when it is only the two of us against this storm and I am afraid?" The queen smiled, softly kissed the top of his head, and said,
"Are you not tired of the sun?"
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