I sidled quietly down to your garden this morning, my love, dragging the bare toes of the opposite foot across the Bermuda lawn after each step, creating a two single lanes, dashed with dark green disruptions in the pastel blanket of dew deposit that lay there, and observed my first Tiger Swallowtail anxiously attempting to rouse your huge sunflower stalks from sleep by tickling their darkened centerpieces with its capricious and curious proboscis and little threadpiece legs. How gregarious yet utterly quiet she was.
At this acute point in the arc of our shared lives, I urge you, my wife, to harvest from between these few lines our secret points of light, and ring from that bounty all of the glory that underlies our antics. I truly love thee.
