Daffodils for you, my dear, whereever you are sleeping and dreaming and asking, “What is this joy?” Joy that comes with tears for the ache of being alive, for facing the hurricane force that blows through us unrelenting. We open our windows, and bend and break and somehow we stand. And before we know it the storm clears, and we come to rest.
In all your misdeeds – don’t you want to be forgiven? In all your disappoinments – don’t you want to find hope? In all your forgetting, don’t you want to remember the drift of soft voices from the warm lighted living room, sing-songs you try to follow from the groggy realm of Bedtime. Grown up voices turning the world over and over with their mystifying certainty, until for once you know everything will turn out alright?
Today the sky was hard, clear blue, full of sunshine that didn’t warm away the cold. A beautiful day, like the day we last spent together getting tea, I think, and certainly at the antique mall. Tomorrow we are apart for the first and inevitable final time, and the clock of my year resets.
But today we are always together. I am here because of you, and you are here for me.
Don’t you want to be forgiven, too?
So much love, to you and her, my darling. Oh that pitcher. Oh the yellow daffodils. Forever desperately grateful for that day she had with you. Like where the boy and his bear will always be playing, you will always be there with her, and she with you, and me there in spirit with both of you, forever on a fine day out together.