Itching to write a love letter

Who doesn't love a love letter? Hardly matters from whom.

The way you move, she loves that. The way you touch her, no other can. The way you see her, her innermost beauty revealed. And then there is her scent, you alone match hers perfectly.

I have been itching to write a love letter. It's not easy to explain, but for a while there, Pollyanna had me in a headlock. Problem was, without a lover in mind, even she began to heave.

This morning it dawned on me, trucking along fir lined sideroads, sprinkled with creamy-pink magnolias, sap rising again, unseen, unconcerned, besting gravity, stretching out limbs into crisp mornings.

It dawned on me, coddling our new brood of chicks (Ernesta, Cheep, Phoebe, Drumstick, Sparkles, Fried, and 7 more as yet unchristened hatchlings), that love letters turn up in mysterious ways.

Spring, my beloved, I love you too.