You fill my life with irises and callas, daylilies and my own chrysanthemums that flourish in the brutal heat of Dallas because you love—the greenest of all thumbs. And I have taken root within our garden far deeper than I guessed such things could grow. New rootthreads sprout and in the dark earth harden; now they withstand your well-loved winter snow. You grow here, too, beside me through the summer. We drop our leaves and wither in the heat until September brings the sound of thunder, and let the wind and rain and hailstones beat. When January comes, how will it find us? Asleep and waiting for the end of gloom, our roots entangled so they join and bind us. When summer comes again, love, we will bloom.
Lovely and pastoral, Kate.
Thank you!
Beautiful. 🙏🙏