With this in the mail, who needs Cyrano?

When I was on my mission, Tim used to cut pieces out of cereal boxes and write on the back and send them to me as post cards. I thought it was great.

Today, one of the kids pulled down one of my mission photo albums that I haven't looked at in 10 years, scattering the pages. As I put it all back together, I found one of those old postcards tucked in the back with a few carefully selected items that made me happy (a piece of paper that was just the right shade of blue, a picture of Elder Tim Jones with a banana on his head, a sign that said, "Dance Barefoot," etc.).

On the card, I read, "The man that hath no music in himself...." and immediately recognized it as Shakespeare. I skipped the rest of that quote and moved on to the tiny messages scrawled around it in the margins.

What I found were what Tim thought were notes on his day and what I think now are gorgeous poetry:

"October 21 1998 am
Exquisite blustery, flustery morning.
Gargantuate frigid blast-the-leaves-off-the-trees wind
...ice and power that sucks the breathe out of you.
Clear, pale sky.
Excellent."

and

"Oct 19
feasted tonight
on Fulghum
(rediscovered, but was
me who sought him
out), soggy stuffing
and dry turkey, and
a brilliant sunset
blazing over the
Great Salt Lake."

He didn't sign the card, but I knew who sent it.

How could I not?

With a soul like that, who needs a Cyrano?