When I was a little girl, I used to run out to the field at recess time searching intently for the perfect spot.
All alone, in early spring, and somewhere deep within myself I knew I had a job to do. I had to create a home with walls and rooms, an entrance, windows, a bed to rest in and a kitchen for meals. My home was made of flowers.
I’d return the next recess and find it again and play in my little house of flowers. I'd line a pathway with rocks, and find little things to make plates to pretend there were meals, and pretend there was time to sleep and rest in the flowers.
I’d dream of living in that little house where everything was beautiful all the time. I’d rebuild it time and again as it was trampled or blown away.
Angelo, you let me keep making that little home of flowers, trying to make everything beautiful all the time. You understood and loved this about me. You encouraged it in me as an individual, and embraced this in our oneness. You worked so hard to give our children the innocence of childhood surrounded by simple beauty.
And when the troubles of this life tried to trample and blow away the beauty, you did your best to rebuild and restore relationships, innocence and truth.
And now, my Love, as the flowers bloom all around me, how do I live in this dream, in this house of truth and beauty?