White Galactic Dog
Dear Lady Friday,
Two carpenter bees battled each other to be the first to relay your message to me; they were so rolled up in their fight that a third slipped around them and delivered it in their stead! Your finely liveried messenger immediately became the subject of their combined attack and last I saw he appeared to be on his way to being de-livered.
It is indeed a fine day and the blistering heat is welcome. As you are aware, this is a damp area, ramp with springs and lush growth that sweat profusely. The moisture readily settles into my body where it pools and puddles, hot sunshine is a kindness that brightly bypasses and penetrates these areas, encouraging upward movement and flow; I deeply appreciate it even as I notice the withering effect of such intensity on my green friends. They tell me they are born to this, though they wilt under a hot gaze it isn’t long until they spring right back up, slightly darkened and tougher than before. Would that their resilience rubbed off on me!
It is a yellow and purple day fit for royalty to sweep through the fragrant violet speckled fields and fill themselves on the freely given perfume one last time. The lilac haze is quickly billowing away on breezes, where it mingles with cheerful buttercups nodding their golden heads as they ululate in a sea of glorious undulant green. You inquired whether I heard dogwood barking a few nights ago . . . I confess I did not for the only sound I heard before a cold wind lifted me off my feet and back inside to the comfort of copious cups of ginger tea and mustard oil rubs was that of coyote. Perhaps it was me you heard yipping in protest?
Your messenger has arrived and is seated on my cheek; her lemondrop wings folded neatly by her sides she urges me to blow my response up and gives me assurances that she’ll catch it and bear it to your haven in high places beyond this grove. I trust she speaks truly and eagerly await a reply, until then a fond farewell.