Deer Run

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Okay, Universe.


I'm listening.


Are You?


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I hereby announce my wish for you, The Universe, to fulfill:


Please make Deer Run ours.




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Okay, okay, I know how it goes. I know you don't just throw it into our hands willy-nilly. You are more subtle and coy than that. But do that thing you do. Crack open a door. Make someone I shake hands with in the doorway be somehow connected to me in a strange and surprising way, a way that nudges the door open a little bit more. Give me dreams that are vivid and disturbing and compelling, dreams in which you have hidden a clue on a scrap of paper that I find in my pocket when I am changing my pants as I fall down the side of a mountain. On the other side of the world, make that little butterfly flap its wings in a spot of warm sunshine so that the mechanisim of fulfilling our desire can be fueled. Make my fingertips itch. Conspire with us, put a little grease there where the big gears bind so that when we throw our weight against them, there is some give, a little shudder.




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All my life you have been making my dreams come true.


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I'll keep my eyes and ears open.



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And thanks.



Thanks for all of it.




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