The One With The Green-ish Thumb.

Dear Lover,

I imagine Lavender and Rosemary at the garden gate.
And just beyond it.
Rows and rows of tomatoes to pluck.
Thick patches of strawberries.
Herbs spilling over the sides of their beds.
In the distance.
A small orchard of citrus trees.
Fields of swaying grass that reach up to the knees.
And me.
In the midst of it all.
Barefoot.
With dirt beneath my fingernails.

Do you think this may be possible?
Oh, you do?
Well, goody.
Now that that's decided.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you that the potted plant in my windowsill has died.

Love,
Me.