change of seasons
dear bambi,
it’s been a while since i last wrote. the summer sun melted my ink and burnt my feather quill. but the wind is stirring through the streets, i can feel it curling against my back when i walk to the market. it’s apple season, time for cider again. remember when we sat on the roof in the snow and blew cinnamon breath across the hudson? i’m ready for flannel sheets again and maybe this year we can paint a fireplace on the wall. can’t you taste the winds changing? i haven’t forgotten you my love. it’s time for toe socks and tobagons and whiskey bellys.
love always and all ways,
huckleberry
