A Stunt of Silly Glee

Here again, once more?

Let me bustle about this dark and cozy room; a pencil behind my ear, a  
candle lit upon my desk, and words at my tongue and fingers' tip.

You know I'm writing to you.  And I know it too.

But what to say?

Once I knelt in soft summer grass and collected cucumbers in a worn  
and ruffled pink plaid apron.

A season later, the very fall that followed that cucumber summer, I  
used the same apron to carry freshly washed apples from their sink to  
my counter.  And chopped them into happy slices to become delightful  
pies.

And wasn't my father proud!

So tonight, a winter's task!  And what have I collected in this loved  
and ruffled pink plaid apron?

Words.  Letters and punctuation and space and silence. So many words!

Here I stand, soft white arms clutching a bundle of phrases and folly  
and kisses- up against my butterfly stomach and still-beating (think  
of it, a still-beating) heart.

And, oh!

Throwing my hands and laughter into the air I've let my apron loose!

For you.

What words will you find scattered about my now nervous feet?

And why am I nervous?

Because if you find the right ones, and arrange them just so, just so...

I may have to stoop to gather the words I've thrown about in a stunt  
of silly glee,

And write again.

Only this time not to you,

But for you.