It’s a day full of flowers here in Southern California. Evening is slipping down from a gentle sky, the light slow and soft, and I am traveling along the deep memory road.
I have been looking through our Valentines, Darling. I find that I have about thirty of them, going all the way back to the first year.
They draw me down the shadowed path to those days, recalling your bright voice in the eternity of youth and the magic that you spoke, and the deeper magic you said with your eyes. We were so happy, two little outsiders who had done the impossible: we had found someone who wanted us.