magic-carpet

Don't need a magic carpet to soar or wings to fly. I simply close my eyes and place my soul against the sky.

I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness__n a landscape selected at random__s when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern__o the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal.

The letter we all love to receive is one that carries so much of the writer__ personality that she seems to be sitting beside us, looking at us directly and talking just as she really would, could she have come on a magic carpet, instead of sending her proxy in ink-made characters on mere paper.