cripple creek ferry(fairy).

Ever since I saw the godly Neil Young play last week, I've been on a steady and exclusive diet of his albums. He is good, he is better than good. I love him because of this, and because he reminds me of my parents and of my brothers. He reminds me to be hopeful; he reminds me to strip things down to their slimmest bones and look at them that way. I think that if fate would hand me even a skinny half hour with this man, I would buy him a coffee (or maybe a stiff scotch on the rocks), and take him on a frosty walk through downtown Winnipeg in the dusk. We would weave down Wellington to Sherbrook to Ellice to Albert, and our feet would maybe drag and our bodies shiver in the October chill, but our lips would move quickly, trading words. I would ask him questions and I would pray that he would answer. I'd question if he has always believed in love, and even if so (or if not) what bleeding it took to get him there. I have seen his wife, she is very beautiful. And also looks as if she would be quite a lovely individual. I hope so, it would trash my heart to see Neil with anybody less.

I think that my best nights are those involving red wine shared with other(s) and then tea shared with myself, and maybe a book and Devendra's soothing sounds at most. This eve I traipsed to Meg's pretty lair for Mexican eats showered with red wine and layers of secrets shared. It was exactly what I needed, she was exactly what I wanted. I have the most brilliant mum, but if ever I am clawing for an immediate surrogate, I know with instinct that Madge is my lady to go to. She takes care of me and tells me when enough is enough. She also tells me when to go to hell and tells me when she loves me most. And for all these things, and more, I love her most.

Janique, in all her radiance, joined us midway through said hangout. She greeted us, in typical endearing fashion, with coos and kisses and embraces and a fresh bottle of ruby red. We nestled all into one another, listened to records and tossed words around and watched Meg fold her laundry. All was well and there was a lot of hand-grasping and soft laughter. I appreciate those girls, very much.

I leapt onto my frail green bicycle for a lung-icing ride home through abandoned streets. Empty apartment, Harvest Moon lapsing me into relaxation, and hot licorice tea sliding down my throat. I think that this hours calls for no less than a three-hour bath and a sleep no more untouched than death.

This is where I say goodbye.
So goodbye, then.
Rebecca L.