The 31st of January 1915 – Southampton, Hampshire

(found by the thick, green turf that so determinedly covers the place)

Dearest Charlotte,

Have you ever come down to here?

We’ve spent so much time on the western half of the place, the western coast, that coming here to the east is such a delightful treat.

As beautiful as a sunset is, one can quite grow tired of them, and it is a nice change of pace to take in the view of the sun rising.

It may as well be the same thing, or – at least – a reverse of the same thing (or perhaps its mirror), because the same colors come and go at similar intervals: first purple, then a vibrant magenta, bright orange and a pale yellow.

It’s a view that, for once, reminds me of the future rather than the past – of course, unfortunately – it is a future never to be seen, but how could it be seen without ignoring the beauty of the vision hanging there before me.

What a beautiful thing occurs the moment just when the sun peaks up above the horizon – or dips down below it – and the sky becomes filled only with a pallid blue and a throbbing and hearty shade of red.

I can see it glowing there for miles and miles and miles, and it hangs there – alongside your smiling face – with a single problem.

Red was never our color.

Dearly,

George

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