hello darling. first things first; i love you. i wish you were here. it’s Sunday in Haiti and the sight unfolding before my eyes is impressionable. i can tell you would like this; it’s one of those moments when I realize why we get on so well. driving on the battered roads of the Central Plateau below the massive mountains steep incline, the lives of rural Haitians and their Sunday customs have turned the desolate roadway into the density of 5th avenue right where Central Park starts. Old women in huge sunhats and their best white, blue, red, black dresses with matching heels and tall men and short men in suits wiping the sweat from their brow and the children in their shirts and ties ride bicycles as their parade deposits each of them at the gates of one heaven or another. Next to the sugar cane fields, and the slumping wooden houses, and the lonely banana trees sit the churches of the Evengelicals, Baptists, Catholics, Adventists, and Voodists. the humidity is thick enough to taste like in childhood. i thought of you as the masses, in their Sunday best, poured down the road as if propelled by something great, something undoubtedly unknown. the entire morning felt like the past. like a Toni Morisson novel. or an Otis Redding song. or a Cadillac’s tires scraping the gravel of a parking lot in 1963. it was Sunday, in Haiti, and people, poor as the dirt they walked on, dressed to the nines on their way to worship, were momentarily relieved to not have a care in the world.
darling, i figured you would like this. i always hoped this scene could exist; and today it did.
i love you,