Sometimes, I think about the man who wrote this for me long ago.

Sometimes, I wonder what became of him.

I do not love him anymore, no, but I miss him the way one misses their favourite pair of shoes.


"The morning sun awakens the senses of that autumn day. The last droplets of dew retreating from the foliage of the garden. The sparrow watches me i work the soil. Observing, analysing, judgeing. Ever present since the earliest signs of summer i'll miss its joyous chimes when it leaves for warmer climes. Winter is approaching now. The sounds of summer will give way to the scant silence of winter. All things must turn and the sparrow is ready to leave. That final chorus of acoustic brilliance echoes into the arms of mid morning. With a final surveyance of her summer landscape she leaves. Will the passing of time return the sparrow to the kingdom of her youth. The winter awaits but i still hear the joys of summer."