Day 77: As I type, the crisp scent of cut grass wafts through my open window on a soft breeze. Intoxicating…twirling with whirligigs of gentle joy after reading a letter from Jilly. She gets my attachment to Wes, evident in the letter’s ending: “Love, Me, Wes, and the family.” She mentions looking at possible DC apartments, taking Wes to the beckoning beach as she succumbs to Spring Fever, and a family trip to Tennessee.

And a memory surfaces of us walking together two decades ago on a perfect spring day splashed Kandinsky green, blue, and yellow. Similar scent, but with wormy rich soil.

Always the soil.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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