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.