A French Toast

Hey,

I know that many of you won't notice that I've posted this because I'm not going to send an email update. No need for such a short post. I'll be in France until next Sunday, so expect some sort of communication indicating that I'm alive sometime on April 4th.

So here's to an incredible week in France, may Dan and I arrive there safely, may the weather smile upon us, may we travel with full stomachs and avoid blisters and such cantankerous inconveniences, and may we return better, wiser, and more alive than when we left.

I can't resist the opportunity to include a poem that takes place in France...hopefully I'll have my own when I come back:

along the brittle treacherous bright streets

of memory comes my heart singing like
an idiot whispering like a drunken man

who(at a certain corner suddenly)meets
the tall policeman of my mind.

awake
being not asleep elsewhere our dreams began
which now are folded:but the year completes
his life as a forgotten prisoner

-"Ici?"-"Ah non mon chéri;il fait trop froid"-
they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind bringing
rain and leaves filling the air with fear
and sweetness....pauses. (Halfwhispering....half
singing

stirs the always smiling chevaux de bois)

when you were in Paris we met here

-ee cummings