So yes, I wrote, in bouts, slept when I could, got strawberries and popsicles and milk and stamps and felt utterly slackerly but in the heat and semi-cooling wind and holiday silences and absences writing was the most important and exhausting thing I could do. I am beside myself to meet him and scared, though I shouldn't be. I am sending him Twice Removed and I listened to it this morning and I hope their new one is just as good...

The cooling high winds: whenever it's really windy in a certain way, I think, he is here. Oh metaphor: it shakes the trees, makes seeds fly, close your eyes and the sound is like the ocean. Maybe I am scared because it is like being hit by lightning, only good; startling nevertheless. I keep thinking, oh, you'll get used to it...I know it is unassailable and real, and like Beauty once she makes her transforming proclamation, I am too dazed to even notice the lights and fireworks and rah-rah because it seems so transitory in comparison. And while I have experienced this in grief, happiness is new...