and_yet_the_newest_star blueberries i told you about my machinations, how the iranian housekeeper never told my parents about slipping outside the concord house after they went to bed and meeting her in the tall grass at the top of hollyendontool where nothing of summer dimmed the light of a lonely moon. she stood there unclothed, waiting, a wreath of violets in her nut-brown hair. she smiled when she saw me arrive and yet the nearest star could not shine as bright as the wonder that awaited us. 011210 what's it to you? who go blather from