a trip to vermont, or another title

i like the rhythm of to dream, to wake, to dream, and there’s a girl who has rhythm dancing at my metaphysical homedesk.

twang.

there was a spatter of rain in the morning. the day broke. after a nice night of sleep the world felt tantric in its connections (green, green, green, birds chirping), and the sky was infantile in its hue – i know this because i saw the same sky twenty years ago, as a child, another person, in a suburb, something quaint and pleasant in my memory.

we left in the early afternoon. start goes the car, bang goes my heart. she was wearing something very pretty – it looked black and it looked something like a dress. and she looked something like mischief, and my heart felt something like pounding, i’m not lying.

boston began fading in the distance as we moved north. the new england landscape looked lush and green on the side of the highway, and the air rushing through the windows felt nice.

“i can’t believe neither of us have been to vermont. it’s really not very far,” she said.

“i know, but at least this little trip will feel more like something of an adventure since we haven’t…” and quoting a semi-famous tour guide of new york, i added, “so just enjoy the various gradations of cruising manifestations, baby… it’s high time to dedicate ourselves to everything that’s creative or destructive, to fall in love with the frantic chaos of this limitless universe. do you see the size of that tree right there?! baby, if the history of god’s architecture is the history of all phallic emotion, that tree is utter catharsis.” (remembering these lines, as i drunkenly recited them to ex-pat spanish design students in a glass-walled lounge two weeks prior.)

she gave me a wry sidelong glance.

not before long we were cruising through new hampshire, the rocky terrain, the sparse accommodations, the combination of three golden, or maybe brown, mammals on the boom of the wood, recalling some fragmentary shakespearean daydream – note – there isn’t much in new hampshire, but the wind felt fine, and we were very happy.

it didn’t take long to move through new hampshire, an hour or so, and the landscape began to open, more green, a spatter of speckled horses strewn in a ravine to the right, and an old farmhouse. it looked country and cozy, somewhere you’d imagine warm apple pie taken out of the oven and served to a family of hardworking farmers, people close to the earth and land, …imaginings of an applejohn and pale primrose. it felt like we’d arrived, though our destination was of the northern section of the state, and i don’t think either of us minded a bit, and, say, do you see the robin, oh, it landed in the pinetree (there.).

as we sped north, a rather old-fashioned train appeared on the left, rumbling through the lush country. it looked like a train necessarily carrying maple syrup in its cargo cars, or some kind of fine vermont cheese. we talked long and longingly about dipping our toes in a lake. and in short order, we arrived at our destination. i was eager and excited to see danny and emma again. i found his house fairly easily and we got out of the car and took in the sights.

and what's that feeling of serendipity?

it’s the swordplay between blades of grass under a der blaue reiter sky.

and i think i like you.