The Tongue

Last night and this morning the edges of sleep were haunted by a clear, faint smell which took me back to MacDonald Street and my late teens. I kept thinking green, green, and had a vision of green and white striped packaging and a name - Calvin?! no, Carvin?

It is Vent Vert, and I don't even know if it is still sold.

Yesterday with Mimi I had une image mentale vive, through a happy misunderstanding. We were walking up a ridge which was a series of interwoven golden hills laced with lupin and iris, and I though Mimi said "lievre". Couldn't see any but I wanted to, then reflected and wondered if she had said "levres" in which case my attention had truly wandered. So I reverted to English and she patiently said "l'eleve" - she had mentioned a pupil. In the meanwhile I had peopled the hillside with leaping March hares, then Daliesque lipsticked mouths. She enjoyed it too.

I almost enjoy life more when I misunderstand. Revision: I often enjoy life more when I misunderstand and get that lovely feeling like a balloon that's slipped its mooring. It comes too with poetry and opera, both wonderful today, Tristan and Isolde while driving, and the freeway melted away.