Friday, November 16, 2012

i've got forever on the tip of my tongue


Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake. 

--Wallace Stevens

I have never taken the time to walk around a lake with someone and not bothered to have a very truthful conversation. Small talk doesn't belong to wandering outdoors. When you accompany someone on a walk your conversations are immediately radically different than a conversation you would have with them at a dinner party. Human beings. We're so effected by our environment. How delightful and bizarre and perfectly natural of us.


Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you!
--Confessions of Augustine


I love watching people flirt. Generally, there is not a more beautiful sight in the world than watching two people encounter the mystery of one another, and be utterly charmed by the litte hints and glimmers of what they see. I feel my heart grow very warm indeed, and can't help but wish them well.
And the matchmaker in me gets all excited and happy, and begins plotting overtime.



I am such a klutz. I am such a klutz, that back in my junior year of high school, it took me only a month to damage our new car. (It was the rearview mirror. That poor thing had a painful encounter with the garage wall.) I am such a klutz, I once broke five dishes in a week. I am such a klutz, I once fell off my ladder trying to climb into my loft.

Given all this, I am surprised it took me a whole four and a half semesters to get burned by a Grotto candle.

Last night, as I leaned over to light a candle, I started to smell something burning.
I looked down and saw that my dress had caught on fire.
Because I tend to over-react in general (slightly. just slightly.), a terrifying vision popped into my head briefly of an Observer headline: "Girl Catches on Fire Trying to Light Candle: Sustains Fatal Burns." With that terrifying image racing through my head, and absolutely sure I was going to turn into a tiny little inferno, I calmly sat down on the ground and beat my dress with my mittens until it stopped smoking. (If there's one thing I remember from Girl Scouts, it's STOP. DROP. and ROLL. (I made the executive decision to nix the rolling.)

As I sat there on the ground, with a slit of still smoking charcoal decorating my dress, I just laughed.
And then the only words running through my head were my faves (from the Song of Songs, natch):

For stern as death is love,
Relentless as nether world is devotion;
Its flames are a blazing fire. 

If love is like a blazing fire, then maybe it's like the couples flirting: it's so enamored with what it sees, it loses its mind a little bit; it is so enamored, it burns with a wanton abandon. And then maybe it just might burn things we would rather it would just leave intact. But the flames of love are relentless, which is annoying. Especially when they're burning a hole in your turquoise dress.

But at its heart, love's always a little wild, I suppose.
That's just how Love works. He's not a tame lion.

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