There are people I'm simply happy are here in the world

Just a few days now, it will all come clear. Just a few days and she will return.

There is always so much more to learn about everything here. Where is the sense of it all?

Things go so quickly anymore, and there is nothing for it.

Something moving toward greater light, greater light than we have known.

Turning around all the time, things going crazy.

The music even reminds me of you, across the town. Still dreaming of you.

I hear the sound of crying from beyond the wall, as if all sadness were my dwelling.

Almost, the rain is here, possibly a storm - it's been so hot the last few days, most are hoping for this. It is the time of evening just before the streetlights come on. A few brown and yellow leaves can be seen along the sidewalk.

Sunday August 17, 2008

It's been so hot here the last four days, the greying of the sky and a smattering of rain came almost as signs of relief, and most expect more rain, maybe a storm. There has been no wind to speak of, though just now, some stirring in the leave. And, I am stirred to begin this letter to you. And you know, it feels as if there was a different kind of storm far back of the impulse.

Everything, every word, is so full of import.

Those still out who have homes are going to them, if they are not going out.

I dream we are walking at night along a wide street, not even talking, just walking there together, somehow as close as we can ever be even so. And traffic, lights, all the noise of the city is like running water beside us, running down to all the cities of the world, past industrial subdivisions and beyond the great sprawling suburbs, a music and a deep, endless humming.

Perhaps we stop somewhere, not a bar or a cafe, and sit, something wooden, and between darkness and some street-light, because that is always the sense I have of these things, half-dark and half-light, simultaneously.

It's a kind of spell upon us, I imagine, and we need to speak, to disenchant ourselves, but at the same time we do not want to break the surface tension, the silence.

I dream you are abducted by aliens in an immense flash of light, and we are all left standing in the heavy overcast of your absence, lost and bend with melancholy. I remember winter afternoons in Ontario that were almost as grey, but you were at least still on the planet then, I would be thinking.

It's been decades since I felt this way. Now strange, and unlikely, from such a small motion. And yet, being honest about it, it seems immense, measureless.

There are people I'm simply happy are here in the world. Sarah for sure, and you.

I wish the dreams would tell me what to do, what to say to you, because all that occurs to me here are difficult, uncomfortable, wild words, threatening to run off in all directions, a confusion and a tangle.

But of course it feels so good to be in this state, such a powerful thing, and nothing like it in the world, for there is no work of art can even apporach this.