By Kevin Prufer
A good way to fall in love
is to turn off the headlights
and drive very fast down dark roads.
Another way to fall in love
is to say they are only mints
and swallow them with a strong drink.
Then it is autumn in the body.
Your hands are cold.
Then it is winter and we are still at war.
The gold-haired girl is singing into your ear
about how we live in a beautiful country.
Snow sifts from the clouds
into your drink. It doesn't matter about the war.
A good way to fall in love
is to close up the garage and turn the engine on,
then down you'll fall through lovely mists
as a body might fall early one morning
from a high window into love. Love,
the broken glass. Love, the scissors
and the water basin. A good way to fall
is with a rope to catch you.
A good way is with something to drink
to help you march forward.
The gold-haired girl says, Don't worry
about the armies, says, We live in a time
full of love. You're thinking about this too much.
Slow down. Nothing bad will happen.
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Tuesday was lovely and warm and might have been perfect had the warm loveliness not caused a pollen count in the bazillions, which in turn gave me a headache that Excedrin didn't wipe out, meaning that I had to turn to the stronger stuff. So I had a quiet morning reading and listening to A King's Speech: The BBC Radio Play, with which a helpful source provided me. It's a bit older than the movie and the script isn't nearly as good, but it has some nice moments with both Bertie's and Lionel's wives that aren't in the film, and quite a bit more information about what it was like for the BBC technicians working with the King. So that was a nice way to spend a groggy morning.
Adam had tennis in the afternoon; Pauline Betz's Wimbledon trophy is now on display at the tennis complex named for her, which made me smile. I went for a walk in Cabin John Park, which is lush and green and doesn't feel as pollinated as our neighborhood with flowers everywhere, particularly by the creek. I had to walk slowly at one point because there were three white-tail deer on the trail in front of me, and I almost stepped on an enormous stag beetle crossing the path. We watched Glee, which I loved almost unreservedly this week -- terrific storyline for poor Sam and his family, Kristin Chenoweth singing Stevie Nicks, Santana and Brittany getting better dialogue, and so much Fleetwood Mac I adore (I associate "Don't Stop" with the convention that nominated Clinton and Gore for Prez and VP since they were playing it as the balloons dropped, so it always makes me happy for that reason alone).
A friend linked me to this list of men from British literature in order of bangability, with which I disagree strongly in a few cases (both additions and omissions) but which makes me smile simply by existing. Here are some more of the flowers from the National Arboretum:
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