to my dearest of hearts -


i wish that you could see this place.
i miss the sea, the tumble and timult of life spitting and frothing and bludgeoning against the sand. i miss the dunes, and the tall glass-sharp beach-grass and miles and miles of shell-bombed shoreline. i miss the fetid, bloated-corpse stink of low tide and skuttling hermit crabs and clusters of navy dark perriwinkles. i miss the rosa-ragosa and standing on the jettis with my hair whipping like piano wire across my cheeks, the wind-burn of mid-summer heat and too many tourists clogging up route 28, and screaming in the dead of night to houses long sleeping, residential neighborhoods long sheltered against our vocal onslaughts.

but this place...

this green, endless place.

the mountains stretch on for miles, hold hands with the horizon under the setting sun and whisper softly through this end-of-april night 'welcome home', and i cannot help but shut my eyes, and breathe deeply of the forest and love it. this place of run-down shingles and forgotten mills and empty, desolate stretches of forest choked highway. this feral cat wasteland, my witches haven.

i walked three miles today, up and around tubbs hill and back again. our neighborhood's own small mountain, choked with bright yellow flowers i have never seen before, and bees and great towering giants of granite staring, ever forward, ever watchful, across the shimmering blue expanse of lake coeur d' alene, to the ankles of the great mountains crashing it's poetry at the roots of my new world.

i wish you could see this place.

i miss the smell of the ocean, but there is a sweetness to the air here that soothes the aching in my lungs and the throbbing in my spine and i think, for better or worse, that i could be happy here someday. the ground is rich here, not like the sandy landscape of the cape, and here now, in the quiet of the country night the howls of great, vicious predators scream through the black and find me, grinning, in the darkness.

but i am thinking of you, brown-eyes.

i am thinking of your midnight hair, and your dainty artists hands and your smile, the same smile that kept me laughing these last heart-wrenching six months and of our heartbeats, our quiet moments, the silences we shared that spoke, in the language of eternity, all that we never had to say.
i think that if soul-mates were something i could stand not to laugh at, if there were a classification for friendship that went so far beyond that there isn't a word for it in our language or any other, that we would be just that.
i miss being mommy-two, and screaming matches and not having to say anything.
i miss you.

and im thinking of you.