When One Carves Out Free Time
All that wine. Did I really need all that wine? I might as well have been Li Po teetering precariously, while standing up in a thin boat addressing the moon. Not today, no, no more wine, no just the river & the boat. If there is no procession of young women, that’s ok, I’ve seen them in the dream. Nothing, but real life for me today. I’ve already heard from someone in the north of Spain, which did my heart good. Wrote to an Irish editor, & a fellow writer in Ann Arbor. To my right, Walter Benjamin exhibits his postcard collection in a chapter marked by Lucas Cranach’s Eve. No kidding, randomly, there’s Ibiza & Mallorca. Both in black & white. I’m traveling via airmail today. This is nothing, but a postcard. Aren’t those the finest moments of travel, when one carves out free time, to sip coffee at the little table, write to friends telling them how grand Cannes is, how welcoming Nice, how rapturous Florence with its exotic Eve in the Uffizi? Color never seems so vivid as when seen through the eyes of freedom. No color better than that of flesh, whatever the shade of skin.