Getting a written letter from zander meant deciphering hieroglyphics, but past the foreign scribbling there was a boy's thoughts that kept my mind transfixed for days. I would probably get as much thrill as reading his letter as to responding. Later on in our marriage he confessed that my love letters were just full of descriptions about trees, wind, nature and such; he would be always searching to read those three sacred words. But they were there zander. They were just tangled up in the branches, hidden under the rocks i discovered on a walk, floating on the lapping waves of Lake Bodensee...
So, yes, zander, plainly put. I love you.
i had to rub fuzzy elbows with the bees to pluck these calyx clusters
We don't write letters to each other anymore. But I think that practise is not totally lost to the past. It was a season of Spring. And we all know spring comes again.
The latest exchange of words were passed during church recently sitting behind, apparently, an attractive, young gentleman that Zander noticed.
Zander: Is (so and so's) brother available?
Me: I'm pretty happy with you, but I guess we can keep him as a potential.
Zander: For Arica! You ding dong!!
Me: I'll ask. No shame :)
Zander: Be tactful.