-The third letter, left where spring meets summer-
Can I call you Summer?
You never told me your name, and well, this is what I've been calling you in my head. I hope you don't mind.
At first it was because, when we met on that winter night, you looked so out of place. Only later did I realise that you weren't wearing any winter gear, even though it was freezing. I'm still not sure if you were a hallucination of an angel.
Now I call you Summer, because you are MY summer.
You're the inexorable force that drives my winter in to Spring, then, right in to your open arms.
My dearest, you are the breeze that gave wings to my last letter.
You are the sun that kisses the snow covered mountain tops, to make them lush and green.
You chase away the barrenness that is the mistress of the dark cold.
You, Summer, are the essence that I want to drown in, till every pore of my frostbitten body is suffused with the warmth of hope, till my body and soul are overflowing with it.
But first I have to reach you.
You reached out to me that first time. A child of summer, full of life, what were you doing crying on a winter night? Why did you taint yourself with the blizzards of vitriolic hatred?
Was it for me?
Winter has barely ended for me. But Spring is coming, I know it is. I can feel it in the way my heartbeat quickens, like the earth awakening from the slumber. My thoughts are stirring tentatively, like bulbs of daffodils, shivering in anticipation, exhilarated, and on the cusp of blooming.
Darling, I know that summer doesn't last forever, but will you wait for me?
Wait till the last traces of frost melt and I grow back sprigs of fresh leaves. Don't leave me until I'm heavy with blossom, a vision out of the riverbanks that Monet painted.
Stay until my spring transcends in to the glorious summer of your embrace.
My heart will meet yours at the place where Spring meets Summer.
Your Winter that is turning in to Spring