“All This”
The rich-scented earth, the violets and lilies of the valley, the virginal breath of young spring.
That otherworldly blue-green color of the paradisal cove in Italy, which no painter has ever rivaled.
The heady tropical perfumes that, wafting around one’s soul, combine to whisper “Hawaii.”
The biting, liquid air on the first morning snowfall of the year, when all is rendered sculpture, curved as smooth and graceful as fine Greek statuary.
All this, my love, you are.