This night of early November is one that will never be forgotten my Sophia (already I call you mine, though we’ve just met). From the time Robert and Mary introduced us, I have known that my life will never be the same. I find that though we only shared those two dances and brief conversation, my entire being is changed, altered forever in the scheme of Time.

When my cousin Mary introduced you to me and you turned to face me, I lost my breath. I know you thought me a fool, stuttering as I did and only able to say “Hello,” though the purest thoughts of a thousand poets were pulsing through my veins. Remember when we were dancing and I said, “You must be an ….” And then my voice froze and I felt like a total fool.

What I wanted, with all loving sincerity to say was, “You must be an angel, because I know that our Father God has never made a woman so perfectly.” Looking into your eyes at that moment I was afraid if I said that to you I would only frighten you into running away; and if you ran away, I knew that I would consign myself to a life of emotional poverty never known to man before.

And now, for the past two days I have not slept. I have ridden my horse all day and sat around an open fire in the forest at night, unable to slow my mind long enough to find sleep. Am I a fool? I have only met you and find that I cannot bear the thought of my life without you.

As I gaze into this fire on this cool autumn night, I do not smell the aroma of burning oak, but of Love’s fire in its forging of us together. I find myself frightened of my own cloistered thoughts. On Sunday, I will find my way to the church where I know you will be with cousin Mary and perhaps I can bask once again in the beauty of your soul; perhaps I will seem less of a fool, but I doubt it.

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