Once upon a time you were just a friend.
Afterwards you became a beloved being.
And finally, by convoluted ways, you gained your definitive place in my heart & mind: again just a friend, a precious one, about whom I'll always care . (I had foretold this, but *I* did not make it happen.)
You enjoy a steady position: my basic feeling for you does not depent on your response anymore.
I went to the dictionary to see what "poisonwood" could be. No. The image I have of you is not similar to that. It corresponds rather to a sunflower. Why? I don't know -- that was simply the plant that came to my mind when I turned my thoughts to the botanic realm looking for a similar to you.
(As a sunflower true to yourself, you turn away from my lunar, somber side.)
Yes. All in all, for me, if you were a plant, you'd be a flower -- a sunflower. You brought me more joy than sorrow. Much more. You helped me in a very difficult moment. After three years closed in this house, I suddenly saw myself in Paris. And life had taste.
As a friend, I feel perfectly safe by your side.
A regret: I should have learnt to cook a little bit with you. I'm ignorant as always. But I began to enjoy preparing myself marvelous salads. They look like watercolors. After half a century I discovered that beets don't need to be cooked. Now they go raw into my raw salad, and taste and look splendidly, in a magnificent contrast with the pale and dark green leaves. (Carrots, cucumbers, celeries, green apples, little bits of orange, and whatever else I happen to have at home can also contribute to add color to the mixture. Small bits of nuts can be spilt over the top of everything.)
The simple sauce I use: lemon (instead of vinegar), extra-virgin olive oil (good cholesterol), a little bit of mustard and salt. I vary the quantities, and mix everything very well before pouring the sauce on the brilliant raw things.
