letter writing

This post was written late last night by tired, determined hands and hesitantly transcribed here with minimal editing. My heart is shaking. It's personal. Tread respectfully.


i embrace warm weather with a clasp of familiarity-
it's a love given to things small, easily secreted away to cherish.
in the winter, i miss it for the light things, the soft whispers-
like leaving the window open to hear life upon life, ignoring you.

to be ignored, or similar, acknowledged with mutual respect and moved on from; you have become the recurring memory of dreams, dear crickets, and i love you if only for the fact my mind needs something small and beautiful to ignore.

i need the green, if only because the absence of green would stab me, over and over like rusted pins, until infection would spell a fragile mind and emotion.

i want the whisper of well worn words, mellowed - not stale - wafting like the lull of cicadas and sounding of hickory and stout ale and laughter and grubby fingers, resting from pulling weeds and prying roots from the ground that takes, waits, and yields, untiring unless/until we give it cause.

i want the sharps and wholes, the curves and corners of your capable poems tilted into my mind like so many waterfalls.

this could be why we speak words, why they must pass from mind to mind with filters in between, so the playthings, the sprites and somersaults and children have something to focus on, the voice; 
while their parents watch out the open door and unlatched windows, grasping the meaning, and delighting to watch them play at the same time.

this is what i want - to live with you in a mismatched, but well formed cottage,
smelling of things alive, green and grubby, and of rain, and of smoke and mists and stew and tea and bread and of the garden. 
i want our children to smell of earth, and of moonlit firefly hunts and of the lake. 
i want the room to smell of white sheeted sleep, love growing, waking up to rain, and the scent of you, which i will leave alone.

we will meet, and piece ourselves together; with us, they will come-
this i trust, not insistently, but with the knowledge that whatever He plans may be greater even than this -
and we will bear them and raise them and feed them and love them, and each other and we will sing the song of the King.