Journalistic and insignificant nostalgia.
They'll be lighting the tree in Rockefeller about now, I believe.
Sometimes one finds occasion to miss the States.
Sometimes.
[Private to Myron to Self]
I think I'd hop a steamer tonight, and steal away. Cut the black frigid depths sharp through.
The Atlantic in winter...and my breath would catch in my throat on the deck, and wet hair would freeze in clumpy tendrils. I'd retreat to the dreamy golden ballroom, and wait until I could see the evergreen they've chosen.
I'd walk across the shifting deep just to see them place the fire in each glass bauble.
[/Private]
Sometimes one finds occasion to miss the States.
Sometimes.
[Private to Myron to Self]
I think I'd hop a steamer tonight, and steal away. Cut the black frigid depths sharp through.
The Atlantic in winter...and my breath would catch in my throat on the deck, and wet hair would freeze in clumpy tendrils. I'd retreat to the dreamy golden ballroom, and wait until I could see the evergreen they've chosen.
I'd walk across the shifting deep just to see them place the fire in each glass bauble.
[/Private]