Letters to Julie

She gazed out at the Ocean, from a perch high above the cliff.  Seagulls circled above, looking to swipe another meal from the mornings scraps.  In the distance, a glint of light flickered in the afternoon sun.  A signal from the sea, she had to explore.

Walking down the steep rocky path, watching her every step, she made her way to the beach... a secluded spot not reached by any road.  Her feet skipping across sand, leaving soft pockets for the incoming tide.  There, a bottle.  Sealed with a cork, so waterlogged it enveloped the rim of the most beautiful shape she'd ever seen.  Must be from a wreck she thought to herself.  She picked it up...

Cool air inviting  the evenings flame, she warmed herself beside the embers.  Tonight's the night she whispered... she'd resisted the urge to rip the cork off a few days ago... she wanted to be careful with its contents.

...

17 December 1895

Dear Julie

I hope this letter finds you well.  Our brief encounter left me fizzing with energy, and I have used this as fuel for my trip.  The air here is cold.  Well under zero degrees and there's a longing to these endless winter days.  The birds have all left now on their migration and the only sounds filling the room are the distant waves as they pound on the drifting ice sheets.

I wish I was there with you again, it was so warm on the Island.  My days here have been busy and productive, and I think of you often.  What a joy it was picking strawberries in the garden of your cottage.  I wonder how big the lemon tree is now... it must be at least 10 years old, maybe even 12.  Do you still have your Grandmothers vase on the windowsill? So many things I think of as the wind brings night in from outside.

I hope to see you again soon, my dear... even if only in my dreams.  You left an impression not matched by another.  Take care in the rain.  

Yours truly, Earl

A beautiful note, she thought.  I wonder what Earl looked like, and Julie... I wonder a lot of things actually.  Very carefully she folded the note.  I wonder if they met again. I suspect not.

I wonder, maybe once was enough.  

Another summer holiday has faded into the blue.  I wonder when they'll find it again?

As they neared home, the distant sound of a little splash.  

Beautiful trip.

...

A very short story inspired by our time on the Amalfi Coast.