We here are all anticipation. Of what? Of real restaurants again in USA. Of the comfortableness of chairs there, sofas there, life there so much more congruent. The falling into a seat. Of cold, I so anticipate the bite of cold, and larger cars (no 8 people in a subcompact vehicle) and clean, comfortable seats and accelerating meaningfully. Houses that creak there and central heating, the sounds, you know, of blowing hot air, of the water ticking through the pipes, of a house bearing its people. I look forward to bathtubs so much.
Sizes there–of recliners, of glasses, of portions and people: oh waddle me up a fat one! The flora there, with its way–I hope to see a lot of the sycamores, the forlorn shrubbery, the withering leaves tucked away, the whispering reeds on the banks of a lake. And I hope to see much of the muddy Olentangy river, its banks NOT lined with trash and its course not paved in concrete. The streets there with just dust and not garbage, the garbage not strewn on the sidewalk but in cans, the bums so respectable there with their cell phones and handwritten signs. The smell of a bookstore again–here they seldom smell like bookstores, and the second-hand ones are grubby off-putting neglected, not the friendly dust and smell of paperbacks the summer has cooked.
Oh the sounds there. Classical music in public places, tastefully low other music, not intrusive, not usually cramped there, not generally latin forsooth. Houses that seal, coffee shops sealing the smell which so colors their warmth; here doors never seal nor windows and all of life is in the open air like fruit. The wind when the snow is beginning to give way, the trickling of it, the quiet you get in the suburbs, the mournful sound of a train in the night. The neatness of laws there, the fact that there’s wildlife in the vast suburban cities’ circles: squirrels and chipmunks, raccoons and herons and even the geese. No lethal sun in the midday, but the weak, winter stuff there, so effete and polite and reserved. The size of the coffee and the depth of the rugs. Wooden fences and broad endless roads and winter in the lava lamp light.