He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week…

…and my Sunday rest.

I’m in bed, on a glorious Sunday afternoon, and watching a gothic tale on Amazon Prime. I ordered brisket a bit earlier. My pajamas are soft heather cotton. The windows are open and the light is mildly tamed from high summer.

I’m luxuriating in the nothingness that is this gorgeous day. Sin prisa. It feels so good. And that is how W. H. Auden’s words came back to me.

Imagining someone as lovely and decadent as this day has been is not so far fetched. Imagining that I would be the same for anyone is beyond my capability. But to love has always been more rewarding than to be loved in return. Such it is to be a woman. Glorious, indeed.

I’ve been thinking of The Age of Innocence a lot lately. Martin Scorsese did a great job with the movie. It’s lush and ache provoking. Such a subtle piece from the same team that brought us Gangs of New York. And the adaptation is so faithful. Edith Wharton has one of those singular voices that can speak volumes on society with a simple description of a family. Like Jane Austen. Or Flaubert. Or Tolstoy.

Obviously I identify with Madame Olenska. An outcast by both circumstance and choice. All she wanted was to be herself. And that was the only thing everyone else wanted her not to be. Such it is to be a woman sometimes too.