Many are the books that speak of love. Must love be complex? Old timers say love is like a beautiful field of sweet berries--surrounded with thorns. Must love be difficult? Preachers and philosophers say love is an ancient, bearded male living somewhere in an unreachable distance, or that it is infinite being without origin, without end. Must love be remote? Yet when I see you, touch you, feel your truth playing silently with mine, I know that love is something simple, something easy, close and obvious--like a flower unfolding to the dawn. The garden is always near. It is we who are constantly moving away. The golden flower is calling. Be quiet now and listen. She knows us all by name.