A Letter of Love Lost

Dear, Dear Pixley,

Our first day together began with such promise, assuredly it would bloom into a long and passionate relationship. And when skies darkened and your family forced us apart for the night, I still hoped, believed, trusted that our meeting on the 'morrow would be fruitful. Sadly, I found my affections unrequited. This letter, then, is my bravest attempt to express both the depth of my feelings, and also why we must never meet again.

You see, I had no intentions of visiting before the past weekend. I was just a man, sitting in a trailer, contemplating how to get home. You came into my life with the report that a Ruff had been sighted, one of only two currently in the United States. Only a few hours away, I had to take the chance that you could help me find this Ruff.

Pixley. How could one not be enamored of "Pixley", name evocative of fairies floating through verdant glens? And at first sight, I was smitten by your charm...a diamond in the rough, with a Ruff.

We walked together as the sun warmed our cold bones, and it was glorious. Yet, there was not a Ruff to be seen, while clouds blackened the horizon and thunder grumbled in the distance. We retreated to a dry lodging, to await the passing of the tempest.

Good night, good night, sunshine! Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Pour, pour from the skies, yet thou shalt not dampen the ardor of infatuation!

With the passing of the rains, we visited again, strolled through the dampened grasses, and yet, still, nary a Ruff.

As the curtain of night fell, and fearing that your caretakers would object to our presence, discretion guided us apart. I drove a few miles away, parking as close as I could, and even bearing the rattle of trains and rumble of trucks near a freeway, so as to reunite as quickly as possible.

And, yet, rising on the next cold Central Valley morning, you greeted me with this:

Pixley, how could you? You know how I valued the Ruff, and you still fogged so thick, even the brightness of my affections could not pierce it.

And, still we tried again. Walking and walking, pace quickening as Desperation pursued.

Finally, after seemingly endless time together, here is the Ruff fruit from your cornucopia of birds:

And, that, my dearest Pixley, is why we likely shall never cross paths again.

Me