My love,
It rained all night. Not a storm, just the slow, steady kind that finds the tin roof and stays, like it has nowhere better to be. I woke at three and lay there listening to it keep time, and for a minute I swear I heard you breathing under it.
The last of the leaves came down with it. The maple by the shed is bare now, all bones and dark wet bark, and the yard is a soaked copper carpet nobody is going to rake. Not me. I've decided the leaves can stay until you come and argue with me about it.
I lit the woodstove before the sun was up. It took three tries and some language you would have laughed at. When it finally caught, I pulled the chair close, wrapped myself in the grey blanket you hate because it sheds, and watched the glass turn orange while the rain kept going on the roof.
Do you remember the October we lost power for two days? You said candles were romantic for about an hour, then you said they were the only way you could see me, then you stopped saying anything at all. The stove ticking. Your hands warm from the kettle and then warm from me. You took your time like the rain does, slow and patient and then all at once, and I came with my head thrown back against the floorboards and wax dripping somewhere we never did get out of the rug.
This morning I did it again in that chair, blanket half off, stove heat on my bare legs and cold window air on my shoulders. Slow first, the way you like to watch. Then not slow. I said your name to an empty room loud enough that the cat left. When it was over I just sat there, damp hair, pink knees, laughing at the rain like it had seen everything and promised not to tell.
The candles are still on the windowsill, the same three, burned halfway down. I'm saving the rest for you.
Come home before the first snow. I want you in that chair with me under the blanket that sheds. I want the stove loud and the rain louder, and I want nobody to need the power to come back on.
Forever yours,
Kay
P.S. Your Booby Pillow has claimed the good spot by the stove and refuses to give it up. I let it, for now. When you get here, the stove, the chair, and everything under this blanket are yours again. No arguments.
