My Dearest Fanny...

Ask yourself my love whether you are not very cruel to have so entrammelled me, so destroyed my freedom. Will you confess this in the Letter you must write immediately and do all you can to console me in it--make it rich as a draught of poppies to intoxicate me--write the softest words and kiss them that I may at least touch my lips where yours have been. For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days--three such days with you I could fill with much more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.  

I've been waiting to see the movie, Bright Star, for ages. I actually was never a big fan of Keats, until I purchased the book of letters he wrote to his love, Fanny. His words debunk the whole notion that guys have no affinity to express their love to women through words. As I read, I wished I had a pen to underline every precious gem of vulnerability that I could soak out of it. What I love most about the love expressed in the past, is it seems to have taken more work, more time, more effort, and therefore the love seemed more idyllic. I know its possible to achieve now, its just figuring out whether we will leave behind our fast paces to actually know someone.

Jane Campion, director of Bright Star, put together this wonderful production scrapbook of the movie. Beautiful photographs, letters, sketches, and lovely little bits and bobbins to pilfer through. It's too lovely to miss.

 

The Meadow by Alexandre Desplat

{you can listen to this at my music

parser on the menu bar labelled

'Cacophony'}