Beloved,

If I was to show the ways of love the only thing I could
answer this day is: Suspension.

It is suspension (definition: Suspense = The state or quality of being undecided or doubtful. Anxiety or apprehension resulting from an undecided, uncertain or mysterious situation).

It is very, very yellow and very bare. I can't tell where the horizon cuts through. I took refuge under a fat yellow cumulus. It's suspended...and if it moves an inch—I move an inch, and if it moves half an inch—I move half an inch. It's very, very yellow here.

Can you feel the sound? Can you touch it?
Do you know the sound of yellow? It's suspended. It's slick.
It's hot—very hot—very yellow.

I saw an insect crawl under my foot. I'm suspended too.
I don't like insects crawling under my foot. This mean discomfort.

Ha...more discomfort.

I wish north would show its face and get motion into cumulus. This suspension is heavy on the breathing and my body is so big and needs so much air.

Yellow suspension. I got to go, got to run

Run

I will bury this letter deep into cumulus so when motion comes and turns the colors around—when it turns cumulus into blue, it will drop on you. This "blue on you" always blows my breath away...here in suspension.

It's very, very yellow here.

Hear, do you know the sound of yellow? Hello?
Hello? ...Can you hear me?

Yours forever
your sunset/sunrise 4ever yours
yours 4ever yours.

[ PS Still searching for the lost treasure ]