My dear wife Marie:
My surroundings are Nature at her most beautiful. How am I able to enjoy all this glory with you not here at my side? I wish you would change your mind and come join me before I climb the walls. Were I a younger and more able man I would jump the guards and clamber over the cheval-de-frise just to escape this hell hole. Did you and the girls put me here because of my numerous sins of commission, or were the ones of omission far graver? I have witnesses and tears to the effect that I endeavored to make good all my mistakes. I never meant to hurt you or Jason. I told you already how beautiful the grounds are. Well, sumptuous beauty - yours, Nature's, our daughters', Jason's - are all mischievous and cruel triggers. A rare moment when my heart and mind find their ease, a mere and momentary escape from my all burdens, and, with no warning - SLAM! My tranquility evaporates as in the blazing heat of an August scorcher. Any tiny hope of redemption is forever quashed. When, Marie, are you coming to see me? The inmates here are pleasant enough, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's the Thorazine.
I walked three miles today along the track that the administration has provided for my use. They say I'm a big shot so I get extra privileges. My walks - jogs, depending how my hips are working any given day - clear my mind and calm me. I saw four Monarchs at various points of my morning's path. At my approach each, in her turn, flitted off, no, not in fear, I'm certain, because you know my connection with all creatures great and small. It was a systematically choreographed but random ascent deliberately rehearsed in my honor ... for my escape. I know this is true because Herr Dressler told us at the congress that the flapping of the wings of a single butterfly can create a hurricane of inexorable destruction. So I recall. The forces of Nature - even the delicate agitation of a fragile Monarch's wings - are not to be mocked.
I must post this love letter to you, my darling Marie, before dark as le facteur will soon have finished his rounds.
All my love,
Henri
****************
Dear Sonja,
A quick note as I have to rush off to see Dad. Jason was so generous to allow Dad to stay indefinitely at his gorgeous estate. After all, they were best friends forever and there's nothing Jay wouldn't do for dear old Pops. He's becoming more and more disoriented, however. When Dad's at the garden table in his wheelchair, the aides tell me he taps, taps away at the table top for hours at a time, in the deepest, unbroken concentration. Should we dig out his old Olivetti portable?
I'm at a loss how we can ease Dad along since Mom died. Do you think he'll ever speak again?
Gotta run. I'll let you know how it goes. Oh, how I hate to see the most wonderful man in the world losing it!
Hugs,
Marte
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