For Lisa, the dearest of dear friends,
Beautiful and rich is an old friendship,
Grateful to the touch as ancient ivory,
Smooth as aged wine, or sheen of tapestry
Where light has lingered, intimate and long.
Full of tears and warm is an old friendship
That asks no longer deeds of gallantry,
Or any deed at all – save that the friend shall be
Alive and breathing somewhere, like a song.
Eunice Tierjens, Leaves in Windy Weather
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Our computer at home died. Dead. We are hoping for a resurrection and waiting for an Elijah to come visiting. (Or is it Elisha?) I’m at the library and have lost this post once already; I’m pushing the 30 minute internet limit, but they like me here! I had a picture in mind for Fine Art Friday and can’t find it on the web. Rats!
I’m trying to learn thankfulness in all things. I want to type: (sigh); but I don’t think sighing is learning thankfulness, do you? (grin)
This week has brought a mixture of light fun and heavy interactions. Have you noticed that emotional work is very exhausting? I’m getting random – I’d better go. Happy November, dear reader.