Last night I dreamed of flowers so tall you couldn't see over them, with stems as thick as a man's leg, growing so dense in a wide field that you couldn't see through them very far. The wind was blowing and rain was beginning to fall. The flowers were tossed in the storm and you and I were trying to keep our footing in the chaos of it all. The smell, though sweet, was aggressive and overwhelming, and we were becoming dizzy with it. "There certainly are a lot of flowers here," you said, and then a gust came. I lost sight of you as a large, sticky leaf tripped me into the mud. When I regained my feet, covered in water and mire, you were gone. I thought I heard your voice fading into the howl of the wind, but I couldn't find you. I think they were daisies. I have no idea what made them grow so large. I called your name for hours as the clouds broke up and the sun came out warm and bright in the shocking blue sky, but you were gone. Then the butterflies came. I wonder if you saw the butterflies, as big as elephants, hovering dangerously just above the petals, lighting precariously on the massive anthers and stigma. If I ever see you again I'll tell you about the butterflies there in the field of giant flowers, the field where I lost you in the storm.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
