…I sat on your bench most of the day, talking to all your flowers. Its amazing how much better they bloom. Even their colors look brighter, healthier. It humbles me, knowing I ribbed you all those times over talking to them reading them poetry all day. You, being you, would simply smile at me in that way of yours. I admit, at first I thought maybe you were having cognitive issues. Later I determined you just enjoy talking to your plants like little children. I get it now. This being the first year after, I wondered if it wasn’t just you sprinkling holy water on them but, now I know, it was simply adding loving attention. That extra touch of love from ones soul.
That early morning storm we had rushing over the summits was sure unexpected. That lightning and thunder show lasted nearly right up till dawn. Didn’t bother me all that much, you know I don’t really sleep like I used when you were here along side. But we sure needed that rain didn’t we? Smaller deliveries would have been preferred but that’s good old fashion mountain kind of weather. I recall you always loved watching it happen like some movie. We lost power here, twice- oddly, there a first time for everything. It worked out alright but you know that. Yea…I made coffee using that old fireplace kettle you kept for us, just in case. All that time it sat there like some out of place giant trinket on up on that mantle, collecting dust. And leave it to you to place another one of your little letters inside for me to find, just in case. Only God knows when you really wrote that one. Maybe weeks, months or hell maybe even years ago. I’d even dare say it was you causing all that storming action too, knowing how dry its been all year. But that’s just you being you. Doing what needs be done in looking out for us. Can’t say I’m all that surprised after all those years we had. I’m still being amazed by you, my just in case, girl.
Your hidden notes, are always like flowers for the soul. Words written from your heart, and delivered center mass to mine, each time I read them over and over line by line. I swear, I can feel you between the pages gaps, touching me. Somehow as my eyes scan the page, I’d hear you voice in the back of my head, as if it were you speaking aloud. I have to stop and clean out my eyes out now and then as my silent lips quiver your words. Well it getting late and I best call it a night, besides I have some tough chores tomorrow, talking to each of your flowers. You know how much I abhor thinking I disappointed you in anyway.