With a spoken love letter.

I have a thrilling way of composing a love letter.  When walking. With my Italian true love. When I am in the mood. Doesn’t  matter where I am. I speak the love letter. Aloud.   Trying not to be too conspicuous about it. I modulate the sound. So only my true love can hear. I whisper some love letters. But when people are out of hearing range, I speak normally. Or maybe even shout joyously. Depends on the  location. Perhaps in the woods. Along a babbling brook. Where only Mother Nature can eaves drop. The other day we were in the city of Bari. On the Adriatic seafront. In the south of Italy. A  brilliant sunshiny morning. Headed for an art museum. My true love in search of peace and tranquility. Maybe preferring silence.   I drifted back.  Along a wide concourse lined by trees and stone monuments. . And composed a love letter. Soothing and intimate and spontaneous words that only she could hear.  About why I loved her.  A  moment. Captured. Amidst a beautiful setting. But nothing more beautiful than my true love.  I was in special space.    On this Earth. In this blessed universe. With my true love. I told her so. The words drifted off into silent space. But not lost. Because I was reaching another living soul. With a spoken love letter. –Jim Broede