Really? Five years? Have I really paced back-and-forth down this road for five years? I broke the path but found my way back easily and quickly. I thought I diverted myself for eternity, but I knew I would kick this gray gravel again. I nurture the irises and tulips along the way, pluck a daisy or black-eyed-susan. I watch the sun beam through leaves and think of you. The change of seasons do not alter the world enough to hide this path I've walked. You'll appear somewhere along the way, I'm sure, or at least that's what I've always told myself at the great southern red oak halfway down this road I've traveled. Will I remember if ever the wind and rain pelt the bark until my little carved letter whittles away?
Five years. Is this a surprise or an acknowledgment?
