16 August 2013
I was going to respond to your letter with my own thoughts about the critic and audience. I went to see a dance performance this morning that felt like a beacon of light. I was going to write in the afternoon. As usual, the day runs away with me, taking my energy and ability to inhabit a conscious state along with it.
I will write to you about it tomorrow, but the clincher is: When each of the dancers saw me writing in my notebook, they each thought I was a reviewer for their show. They each had a different reaction:
One perfected. One emoted. One focused. One lived.
I can’t wait to tell you about it tomorrow. It’s a day off for me, so I’ll catch up with my things that are piling above me. Writing to you, one of these things. You deserve longer letters.
When we walk at the coast
and notice, above the sea,
a single ragged swallow
veering toward the earth-
and blossom-scented breeze,
can we allow ourselves to fail