My dearest Rhett,
You hold on to a moment, a memory , a quick glance and can write of it forever.
So many years I have wasted while your years make an eternity. I think the time has allowed you to push me upward on a narrowing pedestal. Such a small place up here. Not many places to put these things I have come with. Now you want to share the space? I know you pack lightly as most Cowboys do, however, the things you bring are essentials. Must haves! What if by chance the wind blows up here and the ink well tumbles and breaks? I see us both watching the quill feather falling yet catching the wind, blowing, giving us hope only to know the truth of its fate. What is a man without his tools? I say to you it would never be my intention to be so messy with your things. I have a fear of small places with big ideas and ink.
It’s so high up here. Don’t get me wrong I’m not afraid of heights. I’m more worried of how I got here, why I am here and have I taken someone else’s seat? For now the view looks nice and I would like to enjoy it more. I honestly hope you know what you are doing. You might want to bring a safety rope when you come. I may slip, I may trip, I may jump! Heck you may even push me once you get here. Ahhhh, the wind blows and my hair dances across my face. I’m smiling. Hurry you gotta see this. It’s the moment that pushes the quill.
Zazie
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