LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #2

Dear Bubba,

Spring was here. But like everything that lives; it was born and it has died. 

The pain from yesterday has stopped, and 'Singer' has her new litter. I do terribly miss you, every time, I smell the new born hay. With the onset of the monsoons here,  it pours neglectfully, but the air is impregnated with promises. 

I smelled a daisy yesterday; there is a wild foliage growing behind our house. At first, I couldn't believe my sight, but just as soon as I felt the surprise I couldn't help rush towards it. They are just the prettiest aren't they? Friendly and unassuming. You will be happy to know, I am now tending to them. 

Remember the Gonners? Our neighbors from across the fields. They are packed up and gone, now. The Mrs., I heard, got a scholarship in the city, and Mr. Gonner also got a job looking after some rich man's plantation off the city roads. They miss their first-born, dearly, but it feels good knowing that they are moving on. 

It just got me thinking; whatever, were we passionate about, Bubba? I can't seem to be definite about my passion. I don't even recollect having one. I liked a lot of things; painting, perhaps. Cooking? As much as I enjoy it occasionally, I don't think I have the discipline to pursue it. However, liking isn't the same as passion, is it? I would like us to travel some day. 

Blessed are those, whose hearts are known to passion; for their life will know dreams, joy and contentment. 

The tireless days, yield no sleep-full-of-dreams; night has ceased to exist and flows ceaselessly into a continuum of time. No distinction. I will remind my unborn to teach itself a passion. 

It has started raining again, and I will need to go and arrange a shelter for our daisies. Maybe I will start gardening.  You would like that, wouldn't you? 

Love for now, 

A!