It seems simple enough, that statement, but it hides multitudes. I miss the vast expanses, the rolling columns of endlessly generated waves, the most solid promise ever kept by a satellite. Thanks, moon. I miss the sand or rock or silty mud, the waters warm or bitter, the things we carry there or back again. I miss the possibilities. Languorous days on a beach versus vigor in the back of a listing boat. And what will wash ashore?
The ocean in your neighborhood reminds you that mystery is ever present, that certainty may be a steady illusion but that–well, something.
I lost track of where I was going, and the ocean probably reminds us of that too, of dulled memories, and that um…uh….the ocean isn’t just a big watery canyon full of salt water! It….it has kelp! And lobsters! And…uh, other things.
Okay, I do miss the ocean, but it’s late and I want some cereal. Also, it looks like I have a lot of reading to do.
YOU ARE FANTASTIC AND I MISS THE HELL OUT OF YOU EVEN THOUGH I’M RIDICULOUS.
Ah. Thanks for the letter. In all seriousness, you do sound like a friend of mine- though, I suppose you could only be one of about five people. I have to be honest. Your excessive use of elipses was a key narrowing factor in my mind. Unless, of course, you are genuinely that random sixth person I’ve never actually met- in which case, cheers, good to… uh, meet you.
This page. I thought it might be great to publish other people’s letters as part of the main blog. Companionates to my own posts like ‘From Jacob: A letter from Los Angeles’ or ‘From Lucia: A letter from Columbia’ or ‘From Matthew: A letter from Vietnam.’ Submissions would include photographs- because it’s my website, and I say so. The page might also become some kind of Contents Table / Index page with links to the previous letter posts written by each author that this website would eventually publish. For tonight- obviously, a squint at two silly modern letters will do.
Does that make sense? I don’t know. Those are just thoughts- and I suddenly have a hankering for Shredded Wheat.
Matthew! Nothing would make me happier. I think I replied to the person above shortly after reading your longest letter from Hanoi. I read it twice and the second time through an image flashed in my mind of it plainly laid out on the screen before me- I saw it all in paragraphs and those photos on the train. I couldn’t help it. Wonderful. I knew that letter and those moments were wonderful- and worth sharing. Yes. You can be my travel writer. Of course, I have to pay you in postcards, poetry and peanuts. Actually I just remembered I have a pressed penny from the Volcano National Park I never mailed to you. But I don’t believe in writing for pressed pennies. Forgive me. I’m rambling. It’s the hour. And perhaps all the hours before it. This is exciting. Yes. Worth trying.
I miss the ocean.
It seems simple enough, that statement, but it hides multitudes. I miss the vast expanses, the rolling columns of endlessly generated waves, the most solid promise ever kept by a satellite. Thanks, moon. I miss the sand or rock or silty mud, the waters warm or bitter, the things we carry there or back again. I miss the possibilities. Languorous days on a beach versus vigor in the back of a listing boat. And what will wash ashore?
The ocean in your neighborhood reminds you that mystery is ever present, that certainty may be a steady illusion but that–well, something.
I lost track of where I was going, and the ocean probably reminds us of that too, of dulled memories, and that um…uh….the ocean isn’t just a big watery canyon full of salt water! It….it has kelp! And lobsters! And…uh, other things.
Okay, I do miss the ocean, but it’s late and I want some cereal. Also, it looks like I have a lot of reading to do.
YOU ARE FANTASTIC AND I MISS THE HELL OUT OF YOU EVEN THOUGH I’M RIDICULOUS.
This concludes Ocean Thoughts™.
I am immediately curious: what kind of cereal?
Ah. Thanks for the letter. In all seriousness, you do sound like a friend of mine- though, I suppose you could only be one of about five people. I have to be honest. Your excessive use of elipses was a key narrowing factor in my mind. Unless, of course, you are genuinely that random sixth person I’ve never actually met- in which case, cheers, good to… uh, meet you.
This page. I thought it might be great to publish other people’s letters as part of the main blog. Companionates to my own posts like ‘From Jacob: A letter from Los Angeles’ or ‘From Lucia: A letter from Columbia’ or ‘From Matthew: A letter from Vietnam.’ Submissions would include photographs- because it’s my website, and I say so. The page might also become some kind of Contents Table / Index page with links to the previous letter posts written by each author that this website would eventually publish. For tonight- obviously, a squint at two silly modern letters will do.
Does that make sense? I don’t know. Those are just thoughts- and I suddenly have a hankering for Shredded Wheat.
estimations & elipses,
elizabeth.
I want to do this. Photo too, for sure. Over Christmas I’m going to get this to you.
Matthew! Nothing would make me happier. I think I replied to the person above shortly after reading your longest letter from Hanoi. I read it twice and the second time through an image flashed in my mind of it plainly laid out on the screen before me- I saw it all in paragraphs and those photos on the train. I couldn’t help it. Wonderful. I knew that letter and those moments were wonderful- and worth sharing. Yes. You can be my travel writer. Of course, I have to pay you in postcards, poetry and peanuts. Actually I just remembered I have a pressed penny from the Volcano National Park I never mailed to you. But I don’t believe in writing for pressed pennies. Forgive me. I’m rambling. It’s the hour. And perhaps all the hours before it. This is exciting. Yes. Worth trying.
No, this christmas. haha.
Assuming our move goes well!
xo