The area around my old apartment in Benton Park used to be mysteriously filled, every spring, with little wisps of cottony fiber, which drifted in the wind across the streets, collecting in the gutters and getting caught in the grass. It always gave the neighborhood a dreamy feel, especially as I returned home after a hard day at L’Ouverture.
Stephanie and I began our e-mail correspondence in the late spring, and so I would often write about these cottonwood wisps, which she claimed to have never seen. Over the course of that spring and summer, as it became more and more a topic of conversation beween us and among our friends, it seemed that people only seemed to see cottonwood seeds floating in the air when they were around me. The night we went to see Julius Caesar in Forest Park, two or three seeds came floating past us in the middle of a grassy field, which seemed to be a happy omen. We began officially dating soon afterwards.