Still, and still, I love you From Here to the Sun and Back
Random Notes (Day 241) from my Phone. Updated for Spring.
1. Gallimaufry: a confused jumble or medley of things: “A glorious gallimaufry of childhood perceptions.”
(Like the youth soccer coach who asked for an unsecured loan. Or slipping on the dry lobby floor after a long dinner when it had not rained. Or, too many open dark green bottles on the kitchen counter in a photograph.)
2. “Sometimes you simply have to get out of the way,” said Chris, Sensei. So, I did.
3. Absquatulate: to leave abruptly.
4.“When the shooting started, all the vespertine sets of eyes left town abruptly. No raccoon likes it when they turn the back porch light on.” “If you don’t sign it, I’m going to throw out your belongings.”
5. The stories that we tell others or try to.
6. The stories we tell ourselves.
7. The Poet’s Wife, a Rose 🌹 from this coming Spring’s garden. 77 petals. Rich yellow flowers, which pale over time. A neat outer ring of petals encloses an informal group of petals within. A hint of lemon. Bushy and nicely rounded head, with somewhat shiny foliage.
Still, this is almost not enough:
8.You are so easy to understand at a glance. All of you. So, my sorrow has resisted time. My time has not resisted sorrow.
9.. You will always be my first buddies. When your rage ebbs, you will look out your thin window and wonder where I am.
Recall after kicking the pelota against the wall through the double-thickness window, telling me: “I broke the window, but my kick is much stronger.” Or, “Did you ever have an itch and can’t find it?”
”How lovely is the sun after rain, and how lovely is laughter after sorrow.”—Tunisian Jewish Proverb
12. “I love you from here to the sun and back.” אני אוהב אותך מכאן עד השמש ובחזרה
I never move position; you circle me. My feet just slide, at angles.
©Philippe du Col, 2025
(אני אוהב אותך מכאן עד השמש ובחזרה)
(“Ani Ohav otef McChan ad haShamashe ooVchazerah.”)
Shabbat Shalom, v’ Lehitraot.
Nota bene:
Here: Archive of past poems, essays, and excerpts
©Philippe du Col, 2025
©Philippe du Col, 2024
Have you ever loved something you did not understand? Have you ever lusted after beauty you could not see? Have you ever been seduced by the breeze? Perhaps I have.