This morning, watching Maria go out into the pasture to pick some wildflowers, which she will distribute throughout the house in her mysterious little vases and containers, I tried to count the many ways in which I love her, and I must confess, I ran out of time.

I love her intelligence.

I love her creativity.

I love her loyalty.

I love her gentle spirit.

I love her when she cries, which is often.

I love her openness and honest.

I love her Sicilian temper,

and her jealousy,

and her deliciously strange humor.

He love how nice she is.

I love her when she washes my socks, and when she doesn’t,

which is often.

I love the way her mind words, a streaming piece,

a collage of colors, words, feelings and ideas.

I love the way she loves the world,

the animals,

the trees,

the moths and bugs.

I love her love of friends.

We have been through much together,

as many married people have,

and we have never failed to love and support and comfort

one another,

we live in each others corner,

we cover each others back.

I love the way we make love,

the way she loves me,

the way I love her.

How many ways can I express my gratitude

for her existence, for sharing my life with her?

She has opened up my heart and soul,

encouraged me to write my books,

to take photos, all of which

are love letters to her, every one.

She is the light in my life, my anchor,

my beautiful place.

And I am out of time

and space already.

Anniversary Day.