2.
Dear Uche
I love the strolls we take. This stroll where we walk hands clasped in each
other along dusty white earth paths laughing to the depths of our hearts
about things we won’t remember seconds later. But I love these moments
because nothing else seems to matter but for us and our shared
existence
You asked me this afternoon on one of those long strolls on white sands
unlike the red earth of the south; you asked me,
“can you hear the trees
talk”?
Were you being metaphorical? If I had taken a moment to understand
your question rather than just pay attention to the surface, would I have
figured it out and understood the words you didn’t have to say out before
I could hear you? Maybe I’d have said “ I hear you” instead of just blurting
out trees don’t talk.