March 12, 1956

Dear Rosetta:

Received two letters from you today, dated 8th and 9th of March.  From your letters, I take it that the moments of boredom must be long and numerous.  That is why I try to write about almost everything I do so as to try to share with you some of the pleasures I derive, if any.

As I wrote in a previous letter, I enjoyed a ride of almost 200 miles.  I spoke about the peach and pear trees in bloom.  Meant to tell you a little more about the peach tree, which like the olive tree, which it resembles, fascinates me.

The are small, usually, I would estimate about 15-20 feet tall, with short trunks and myriads of branches all reaching upward in a flowering patter, irregularly symmetrical and almost supplicatory in posture.  They differ from my recollection of the olive tree in that they symbolize youth and beauty whereas the olive trees are bent and twisted by the winds, gnarled and ancient in mien.

But why bore you with a description of trees.

Went to the Officers' Club last night.  Had a delicious steak dinner, with some Chablis wine, which wasn't bad  Music for my dinner was provided by Tony Pastor and his orchestra.  He was excellent--both with the smooth and jump music.  He played  a few rumbas and two very fine mambos.  I had a dance or two and a scotch or two, and since the music only continues till twelve, I was in bed by 12:30.  Slept well after conjuring into mind your image--in a most intimate and revealing attitude.
It would surprise you to know how photographic my memory images of you are.

I have taken to smoking little cigars.  I find I like them occasionally.  Hope you do not mind.  On of the brands, a filter tip, has a pleasant rum and maple aroma--tout a fait masculin. I am sure you will approve.

. . .

Do you find my handwriting legible? I find it most difficult to write in longhand--even develop a cramp.

I guess this letter is sufficiently discursive for now.  Why not tell me what you would like to hear about--anything at all--people, fashions etc.

For now a kiss or two or three and lots and lots (crude) mountains of love from your

paramour, Constantine