Oh, what to tell you of my dreamy, wandering heart? I don't know where to begin...I have so many places and experiences becoming a part of me - oh, the landscapes of my soul...ha ha. They are a tiny bookshop in Paris, where I can curl in a little nook while looking at the Notre Dome; they are the Swiss Alps - a vast beauty, where nulls of tiny villages are tucked into great, green mountainsides, which I cannot see the bottom of (I believe it would be like living on the edge of a dream); they are the taste of gelato in Italy; a nun riding a bike in Pisa; vague brightnesses passing the window of the train (where I probably spent at least 48 hours); green shutters; shirts, underwear, and sheets hung outside of windows; the warmth of a french bakery - where the vital comforts of the soul are born: bread and chocolate. They are me wandering a day alone in Paris: perhaps the best day of my life. It is true - Paris is the home of dreamers and romantics, especially on a rainy day in autumn. Oh, the blueness of the Atlantic water against the Italian cliffs, the feel of summer on my back, writing in my notebook with the ocean between my toes. They are simple happinesses: buying deep red mums across the street, drawing in a park bench across from Buckingham Palace: the litter of Fall making a softer world. They are a perfect latte in London where I sat on bright red lips and wrote letters.
Oh, how I get carried away in poetics...I see people along the streets of Bath, and I think, you belong to me - in some strange, abstract, beautiful way they are apart of who I am. I am taking an art class at the University of Bath: life drawing. I have never stared so long at someone so naked. Art has been something I've been scared of for awhile, and I hardly had drawn anything for the first hour - faint pencil marks and an overused eraser - but I finally just... drew. I never wanted to let go of my piece of charcoal or that space of time. I have decided to minor in Art (I am taking an abstract painting class next semester). Oh, another beautiful memory: my disgruntled bus driver passionately singing along to Dolly Parton's "9 to 5" on the freeway.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Dublin! And I just came back from Stratford-Upon-Avon: the birthplace of Shakespeare...of which I will write later.
- your hannah
