My dearest love,
The song of change has begun to play. Again. We have heard it before, you and I. Have we not? Have we not laid in bed and listened to the birds begin to lift their voices in the sweetest melody ever heard? Have we not heard it again as we strolled through the aisles of the grocery store, listening to cans and boxes and melons tumble to the tile?
And now as I sit here, knowing you are sitting somewhere looking at the same blue sky and the same puffy white clouds, I can hear it begin to sound again. Can you? Do you hear it, my love? For me it sounds of motorcycle rumbles, trains on tracks and planes overhead.
Whistle me a tune, dear, and send it on the wind. Tell me what you hear, have heard, and where you’ve been.
The rustle and volume is rising…and I know you hear it too. What is the sweet song of change now telling you?
Sending you my love, on the wind and wings of butterflies.