Maria C ’s Reviews > Letters from Skye > Status Update
Maria C
is on page 194 of 290
6 September 1940 (What day is it, even?)
Dear Paul,
From the day you came into my kitchen with that basket of cabbages, you’ve been there. Always with me, like the wind. But that first time I found a letter from you in the post, my heart leapt as it never had before. You rushed right over me and I knew I was in love.
I wish you were here with me to feel the wind. It’s poetry in itself.
Love,
Maisie
— Jun 04, 2026 11:20AM
Dear Paul,
From the day you came into my kitchen with that basket of cabbages, you’ve been there. Always with me, like the wind. But that first time I found a letter from you in the post, my heart leapt as it never had before. You rushed right over me and I knew I was in love.
I wish you were here with me to feel the wind. It’s poetry in itself.
Love,
Maisie
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Maria ’s Previous Updates
Maria C
is on page 166 of 290
Sue,
May 22, 1916
(...)
Do you remember what you said to me when we first met at King’s Cross? The very first words you spoke? You glided over to me and, as I was struggling to think of something intelligent to say, you said, “There you are.” I often think of that, Sue. Here I am. No matter where I am in the world, “Here I am.”
Davey
— May 31, 2026 02:57PM
May 22, 1916
(...)
Do you remember what you said to me when we first met at King’s Cross? The very first words you spoke? You glided over to me and, as I was struggling to think of something intelligent to say, you said, “There you are.” I often think of that, Sue. Here I am. No matter where I am in the world, “Here I am.”
Davey
Maria C
is on page 165 of 290
I’ve never read Mark Twain, but I agree that Poe is thrilling. I remember reading “The Tell-Tale Heart” as a girl one night, in bed with a candle stub I pilfered from church. I was certainly punished for stealing the candle, because after I finished the book and blew out the candle, I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was quite positive that I heard the beating of the heart downstairs.
— May 25, 2026 12:44PM
Maria C
is on page 125 of 290
A chance letter that began years of correspondence… depending on the workings of the post, they wrote to each other more often than the tides and the phases of the moon. Not even the war could halt what had begun between them.
121
— May 20, 2026 05:16PM
121
Maria C
is on page 66 of 290
I should have told you, should’ve taught you to steel your heart. Taught you that a letter isn’t always just a letter. Words on the page can drench the soul. If only you knew.
22
— May 17, 2026 12:25PM
22
Maria C
is on page 7 of 290
My breath
my light,
the one my heart flies toward
For Jim
— May 16, 2026 03:07PM
my light,
the one my heart flies toward
For Jim
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Maria wrote: "O Amor e o Vento combinam tão bem (desde que o vento o sopre para perto, não para longe 😉)Uma noite descansada, querida Maria ❤️
Por aqui o vento anda louco!
Beijos mil, linda
Descansa bem 😘🌷"
Querida Maria,
Tão bonito este final de carta, não é? Cartas que voam, empurradas por bons ventos, sempre chegarão ao destinatário. Grandes amores são brisas e rajadas. E, como diz Maisie, sentir o vento é poesia. Não posso estar mais de acordo.
Uma noite descansada. Amanhã, cá estaremos.
Muito obrigada.
Beijinhos. 😘🌺
I could say the same thing, Maria.Because the poetry grows from simple things -
A little stone under the Arch,
A leaf, a tree, from moments small and plain
that most of us don't see.
It turns a single word into a place to be
And lifts the heart above
the weight of memory.
So let the wind pass through, let silence shape the day
For poetry is here, it never fades away.
Merci, Maria
" So, you think you can tell Heaven from Hell ? Red skies from pain ?
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail ?
A smile from a veil ? Do you think you can tell ?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.."
" It was a teenage wedding
and the old folks wished them well,
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle,
And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell,
" C'est la vie ", say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell "
-----*-----
Théo wrote: "" So, you think you can tell Heaven from Hell ? Red skies from pain ?
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail ?
A smile from a veil ? Do you think you can tell ?
How I wish, how I w..."
Bonjour, Théo !
J’ai demandé au vent qui passe des nouvelles de ma pierre sous l’arche… et tu m’as répondu en poésie.
C’était beau.
Merci.
Olá, linda ❤️Que palavras poéticas as tuas. Simplesmente adorei 🌼
Desejo-te um fim de semana maravilhoso , Maria querida. Beijos aos mil 😘
Oui... c'était beau, ce chemin où ton enfance passait, Les petits cailloux clairs que ta main ramassait..
Sous l'arche, tu laissais ton sourire s'attarder,
Et le monde, soudain, semblait tout apaiser.
C'était beau, ce secret que la pierre abritait,
Un éclat de douceur que ton cœur protegeait.
C'était beau, sous l'arche où vibrait ton empire,
Les cailloux frémissaient comme un chœur en délire.
Tu étais l'enfant - astre, la flamme voyageuse,
Et l'arche - ton ciel rouge, ta porte lumineuse.
C'était beau..
Maria wrote: "Olá, linda ❤️Que palavras poéticas as tuas. Simplesmente adorei 🌼
Desejo-te um fim de semana maravilhoso , Maria querida. Beijos aos mil 😘"
Fico tão feliz, querida Maria, por saber que gostaste. Confesso que o teu elogio me soube mesmo bem. És uma grande amiga.
Desejo-te também um excelente fim de semana, com vento q.b.
Beijinhos. 😘😘🌺
Théo wrote: "Oui... c'était beau, ce chemin où ton enfance passait, Les petits cailloux clairs que ta main ramassait..
Sous l'arche, tu laissais ton sourire s'attarder,
Et le monde, soudain, semblait tout ..."
Je n’aurais jamais imaginé que ces petits cailloux de mon enfance portaient en eux tant de poésie. Ton poème est magnifique, Théo, et je suis heureux de pouvoir le lire en français, en y reconnaissant toute la tradition poétique de ton pays.
Je te souhaite un beau week‑end.
Merci.
La vérité, Maria, c'est que cet épisode de ta vie est resté bien gravé dans ma mémoire. C'est peut-être mon plus beau souvenir, chaque fois que je passe sous l'Arc. Tout ce qui est beau contient de la poésie, et tout ce qui est poésie est beau..Un beau week-end également, Maria.
Olá de novo, linda ❤️Tu mereces todos os elogios. És uma super-querida
Por aqui a temperatura aumenta mas o vento trás a humidade do mar para equilibrar ( e faz-me versejar😉)
Beijão do coração, querida Maria 😘🌻
Que os vendavais não te perturbem os momentos “esplanadais” 😉
Maria wrote: "Olá de novo, linda ❤️Tu mereces todos os elogios. És uma super-querida
Por aqui a temperatura aumenta mas o vento trás a humidade do mar para equilibrar ( e faz-me versejar😉)
Beijão do coração, q..."
Querida Maria,
Quem merece todos os elogios és tu: inteligente, talentosa e com a rara capacidade de sentir empatia e de compreender o que os outros estão a sentir. Muito obrigada.
«Que os vendavais não te perturbem os momentos “esplanadais”», nem os estendais da minha aldeia de roupa branca a secar. :))
Desejo-te, mais uma vez, um fim de semana maravilhoso.
Beijinhos. 😘🌺
Uma noite descansada, querida Maria ❤️
Por aqui o vento anda louco!
Beijos mil, linda
Descansa bem 😘🌷