Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

On This Beautifully Treacherous Night

Dear Beautiful,

This kind of weather always sends my city scrambling. Schools cancelled, roads clogged, and bread and milk quickly snatched off the shelves. I have a decent reservoir of food at the house, so I’m not fearful of starving, but I also know the weather here is rarely truly dramatic. It’s only a little ice. My truck is quite capable of holding its own in the snow, and as I drove home tonight from family movie night by the Christmas tree, the last hints of snow cloak the night in winter. Not a soul is on the roads. The tree limbs are crystallized, shaking and cracking like brittle bones, or the leaves they surrendered just a month or two ago.

Few things compare to the scent fresh snow on the winter air. I want to make more of it. I would settle for snow all the rest of this month. It’s easier to feel drowsily pleased when you’ve been up thirty-six hours, of course. I wonder if I shouldn’t work Christmas Eve night so as to feel the warm and sleepy happiness that exhaustion sometimes lends.

I saw a heart today…a true, live beating flesh and blood heart. It was amazing, and I would have regaled you with other tales of the day as we had dinner tonight, if I’d found you by now. I’d have told you how the anesthesiologist team was kind to me, and how intelligent the surgeons were. Then I’d have asked you why you didn’t marry one of them, since you are clearly a woman of such quality as to find one. (A disconcerting thought when I think of the alternatives that could tempt you; I’m not sure I’ve yet compiled a future comfortable enough to satisfy you, but the potential is brimming and the future bright.) Here, my dear, is where I hope you’d silence me with assurance there is no one else and no amount of money that could tempt you to a future different from ours. That’s what makes you so wonderful, you know.

I’d have gone outside to see the snow after dinner and stand in it with an upturned face and closed eyes. You’d have come as far as the door to see, and watch me, before complaining about the cold. I’d have come back to the door, taken you into my arms, dipped you around, and kissed you. Then you’d have pulled me back inside.

We are to be happy with what we are given, and what I have been given is what and where I am now. So I should be content tonight, a peaceful trip with gentle Christmas carols playing and the snow falling. As with so many things, it seemed only a single emphatic note away from being a complete symphony of joy.

Easier to surrender when you’ve been worn down, both to despair and to contentedness. Perhaps a hint of each as I drift off to sleep tonight?

Love ever,
Beren

December 7, 2013 - Posted by | Holidays | , , , , , ,

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