The Correspondent

by Virginia Evans

I had him for so much less time than I’ve lived without him, and yet his presence is enormous, though I keep it to myself.

The stretches on the high, windblown road are far commoner than the stopovers in comfort, and aren’t we always trying to get back to the happier times? I think that is what it feels like, with Gill. I’ve spent my life trying to get back to having him even though I know I cannot.

And you know, regarding Felix, he endured torment as you do, but he is the smartest, kindest man, and he is HAPPY, and his life has turned out to be magnificent, so you’ll push through. It’s all you can do. I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about a musical artist who lives by a saying, which is: “F_ck the haters.” That is a filthy word; however the sentiment in such forceful simplicity is rather catching.

The landscape soars, immense and distant and gentle, and the sky is crisp and alive, clear, moving, and textured, the air a raw quality I never knew existed.