Published by Open Love Letters


TRANSCRIPT:

"Dear Burley in Wharfedale, 

Please forgive me for not coming to see you now that the final droplets of spring have oozed into the Yorkshire fields. I'm currently having a hot bath. I did my usual rituals, added lavender hoping it will help me sleep better. The water is so deep that it's embraced my whole body at once. I pushed the window open and that's when I knew I must write to you. When you're in isolation, the smell of the outside world lingers on your lungs a little longer than usual. I can almost taste the soil, the pine perfume you carry on your moss skin. I understand now, the way the willow trees bow to your touch, sculpted just so they can savour the sweet sugar you float downstream. I remember the first time I came to you. Your stepping stones made my heart skip a beat. I ached for the cold water that would wake my bones, just as I do now in this bath that's fat too hot and making me dizzy. I feel copped up in this house with its dusty corner and hollow basement. I watched a film last night and you were in it. You cascaded through the hills, deep into the tombs of the earth and spilling into cavernous, sapphire oceans. I featured on your curved, the way they flowed like the blood in my veins. Films are the only thing that can bring you close to me right noe. And books. I miss you and can't wait to be engulfed by you once again. Please hold me in your thoughts as you bathe the birds and flowers. I can still hear the white noise of your waters cascading over the black rock. The froth of your cauldron descending into a swimming pool fit for the fairies.

Until we meet again,

Holly x"