Last night I had a thought of us in old-age days ---- saw myself sitting down to an old oak desk (on the garden side of the house & setting the mug of tea down), to write you another letter.
Telling of the month's good work, the kid's forts and the memories I'd been having lately of when we were young.
Writing to you while you're somewhere - in some form of mountains - faraway in this wide world we love. And I'm picturing how my former dearest will read the words while sitting on a rock, and smile.
---- And I don't know if that's the sweetest premonition - or the saddest one I've ever had.
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