I just want you to know that I miss you. I find myself wanting to sit on the kitchen counter with three cats in my lap, to play through every song I know on the baby grand, to wake up to the whine of the tired old juicer squeezing out fresh orange juice, to stand by the pool and look up at the sky above the church on the hill and listen to the blue-domed bell tower chime six o'clock in the evening. I want to walk through the jungle and poke my thumb on a thorn of the silk floss tree. I want to do some shifting in the greenhouse, with tinny tunes blaring through the ancient radio, or even do some watering, my bare feet squishing in the mud. I want to stroll along Edgar's Bikepath and down into the eucalyptus forest. I want to climb the star tree in the jungle and stare out at the water tower from my perch. I want to hear the coyotes howling and the crows cawing and the shouts from the Jones' tree-chopping place, and I want your sunset burning red and orange over the trees. Don't forget me.
Thinking of you,