June 30, 2013

My dearest,

Can you believe this is city air? It’s so clean, crisp as an apple, fresh as just-churned butter and cooler still. days like these I miss Europe where some cities have more pedestrians and cyclists yet fewer cars and pollution. Sapporo on a summery Sunday. Lovely.

We smile at the silly couple that follow us and then lead ahead on their bicycle, taking turns to walk then cycle then give each other a ride like an adorable version of the farmer and his son taking their ass to the market to sell.

You are convinced they aren’t a couple; they don’t look like one, you say. The chap with his frizzy long hair and bohemian wisp of a goatee and skinny ankles. She with her auburn-dyed long tresses, her plump cheeks and carefree laughter, her black tights and sensible black flats with cheerful polka-dots. 

Does it matter? Their buoyant delight is infectious.

Sapporo summer:
Tree-lined boulevards, cold beer
And lovers cycling.

Yours, ever and always.