{Not perhaps the most effective way, but what does that matter.}
Since early in 2008, I have been writing a series of imagined travels postcard collages. An occasional series that has grown and today, I am happy to report, has a new home. Dear You is where you will find all of the correspondence sent. From the very first one, bearing the discovery that it "seems they were not, after all, pulling my leg when they said that in
New Mexico I’d find a giant sahuaro cactus taller than me" to painting zebras and waiting in Oslo for the chance sighting of the scarred Risso's dolphin (Grampus griseus), I am looking forward to this project continuing for as long as it amuses me. And to coming up with curious ways to sign off.
Yours musing
on the universe and that which may or may not lie beyond, whist
simultaneously trying to box-up my backyard inner-philosopher,
Yours rolling freely toward the inevitable end,
With nose freckling in the sun and heels rough,
Yours frozen and with persisting itch,
Hankering
for a vine swing, while my beloved lusts after a red rose arbour, this
love pairing is a tricky balance and better suited to the nimble-footed,
Yours in desire for more headspace in my peripheral line of vision,
Yours in repeated rotation and good humour once more,
We've travelled with shadow close at heel, and discovered Switzerland to be somesort of idyll. We've been to Niagara Falls and Dover. To Ballarat's Botanic Gardens at dusk. Where next? Good question.
Yours with a film festival to plan,
G
{And lo! she leaps.}
{In the good habit of musing.}
{Good fortune in Tanger. (Tanger, Tanger. We've been here before, haven't we?)}
{A prized view.}
{And the joy remained.}
(Dear You postcard will still be posted here, High Up in the Trees,
but for the reader seeking to discovery the mysteries of X, Dear You is
where you can search uninterrupted.)