You would think everyone would want to come here.
I don’t understand why not.
Perhaps no one has told them?
I had heard so much about the village.
My friends have visited.
I wanted to take myself to see it with my own eyes.
One friend said that you come down off a high green hill,
following a path along the bank of the river,
where the ducks are feeding,
and the backs of the sock-eye can be seen
swiveling in the current.
Such admirable strength is displayed in clear water.
Another friend told me of the friendliness of the villagers.
They greet the new ones with smiles and hugs,
and feed generously all who may come,
and play soft music in the humble lanes
away from the noisy bother of the big,
machine-like cities, where the only perfume is exhaust.
One friend told me of how he would walk the path ways with his lover.
They would squeal as their toes wiggled in the loose sand
that comes to the village shore from the open sea.
The village stops, the intimate establishments, the beauty of the nearby hills,
the art and the craft of the clever, gentle people.
I know that you would like it.
All this, giving off an essence that would bring one close, so close,
to the earth, and to the initial source of the earth.
I have planned for this destiny for so long,
this dream-like life that dwells under the real galaxies,
circled by real birds,
and not just the feathers of pillowed beings.
When I recently came to visit,
I could see how everything they told me is just as they said,
and an even greater goodness lingers here.
My old sad ways of looking at the world have left me.
My visit is now turning into an extended stay.
I don’t know how long. How might I coax you to come?
We could finally melt down our worries.
This is how I learned of this special place, by reading the letters,
and feeling drawn by the words of others.
Why don’t you come?