SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Oct 28, 2003 @ 11:28 pm
The Letter



I wrote a four-page letter to someone. It wasn't meant to be a love letter, but I suppose it is a love letter in that I care. That I want it known that I care. I wrote it in the pages of my journal - a space that is intimate, that I can open up into.

At the end of the letter I hesitated: how do I sign this off? With a wince and a quick breath in I signed Love Shannon.

Then I flipped through my photos of the seals and found the most beautiful one. I slipped it in the addressed envelope - destined far east to Toronto - and picked up my journal.

I held the four pages taut against the bound spine of the book. It tore cleanly down and then jerked jaggedly across my neatly printed text.

Ruined.

Wind screamed through the trees and fir cones knocked on the roof of the cabin. Candlelight flickered.

I closed my journal, turned up the music, closed my eyes.

It just isn't meant to be.


Roots | Shoots