July 2, 2013

My dearest,

The sun beats down on our uncovered heads. We shield our eyes with our cameras, snapping away, wishing our line of sight were free of annoying tourists, you know, the ones just like us.

Long heads of lavender nodding in the gentle breeze, a purple haze. A close-up shot of a bloom, got it, I look up and you’re gone.

Too many tourists, too many lavender fields, stretching into the distance. Where might you be?

There’s no need to panic. You’ll find me eventually or I you. Took us us almost thirty years in the first instance; what’s a little hide-and-seek but a sweeter lost-and-found after?

I line up to buy a cone of lavender soft-serve from one of the many ice-cream stands. Almost by magic, by my second lick, there you are by my side, pouting:

“I want some too!”

Lavender fields far
as the eye can see. I lose
you, then spot you, glee.

Yours, ever and always.