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fyn gula
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"it came," she said, as we pulled up in the truck. greta, standing at the door, jamie holding the box in her hands, stepping on to the wood floor of the porch, great, white-teethed smiles reflecting an unusually warm winter's sun. she was bare-footed, and peter rubbed his whole black and white body against her legs, meowing loudly, as if to urge us to come quickly.
"there is treasure to open!"
and that's how i felt, right there, as we took knife to the plastic tape, sitting down on wicker chairs, scattering scraggly-assed lemieux, groaning his raucous dissatisfaction.
"book and chocolate bisquits, chocolate lollies," the green customs douane read, with other customs tape slashed across it informing us it had been inspected.
kevin, dennis, and i had spent the good part of the day in mothercat field with the ducatis and returned to this unexpected bliss. i had heard it was on its way.
the contents were blow away. i was reeling with wonder to realize that someone could contain such intimate generosity.
sabbie is remarkable, in an impossible effort to find a suitable word. her kindness is unparalleled to me.
my turn sweetheart.
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020201
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