Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Dear magic pie lady,

I was driving west on Waterloo when you appeared on the roadside at your card table with a sign reading 'Homemade Pies.' Six little pies rowed neatly around your table's center. They were $2.99 each which seemed funny in a 'you are super adorable!' way. As you approached me the sun lit your face, and the dark cropped hair curling around your head. The look in your eyes was incredible-- how I imagine a seasoned lioness basking at her day's end might, or a tree-covered autumn hill seen past a blazing valley. Gorgeous, glowingly warm, all at once intimate and impenetrable.

I said 'What kind of pie is it?', and you responded 'Sweet potato.'
I said I would like three, please.

Woman, it felt like you put a balm on my heart. Like honey into hot tea. Shocking. It felt religious. A gift of beautiful love seen in the flesh. Thank you.

Your balm wears away, but today it was there again in a deer rustling along the edge of my woods, a bird lit in flight, the same bird on a tree branch, the strange gorgeous rust of fall's decay brightly lit with gilded leaves.

Sweet potato.
That's all she said.

Thanks again for the pie.

The D.L.


dr von drinkensnorten said...

I do miss Ohio sometimes.

dr von drinkensnorten said...

I miss you. Please call soon, when you can, so we can have a nice cry together.