Love Note to the Letter “L” | Emma Richey
The letter “L.” Lovely, lilting, lulling. So many splendid things begin with its delicate loops. Love letters. Lace. Lullabies. In it I can trace my childhood. Ladles of simmering frothy soups, with bobbing legumes. Lackadaisical old dogs, too worn to pursue taunting squirrels. Lavender, lily, and lilac beds bowing in the shade. Labyrinths of blocks, dolls, and dress up clothes wound over foot-trodden carpets. Lakes glinting pale in the sun, legs swinging off the dock. Ladybirds crooked toes scampering up my bedposts. Lavish feasts around tables lined with loved ones. Latitudes, longitudes, and Latin from half-remembered lessons. Lyrics of radio songs from long ago. Lores and legends stacked high, the products of hours spent at the library. Lightheaded with laughter, lisping through gapped teeth. Letters filled with “L”: “Love you,” “later,” and “last year.” Lines scrawled and penned in haste or with care, declaring love and loyalty. Lulls in conversations. In them I can glimpse the heart of a friend: look, listen, learn. Simple gestures laden with meaning. So many moments introduced by this lifelong companion. Lovely. Lilting. Lulling. Lasting.
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