To Maureen

She has not seen this.

i wrote it early this morning. i had intentions of writing something quite different, but this just hit me as i prepared for another day at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.

i often leave a note for her when i’m leaving early for golf, it nearly always has a line or two about loving her.

She and Marin Hicks will join us later in Hellman Hollow. 

Since i didn’t want to wake anyone with a printing, i have chosen to leave my note here this morning.

‘twas at the bitter end of winter in eighty-two
although in this place
winter has no teeth like it does
damn near in all of the rest of the world
when she walked into his life
from her cubicle down the showroom
to where he stood in the reception area.
the sun glowed through the window behind her
framing the cameo silhouette of her:
not intentional, not suggestive, above erotic,
just…just beautiful,
when she reached him, her face
framed by dark hair falling
was from the angel’s palette;
he pursued her after the sale,
avoiding the professional and personal
relationship complications,
and then
she allowed him the pursuit.
Some thirty-six passages of the winter,
they laugh at each other’s foibles
then laugh together,
they care for all they have met
on this continuing wild ride,
they love those from the journey,
even past loves
those who have chosen to drift away;
they love each other
like there might never be another late winter
they laugh in glee.

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