Mae Sarton received stuffed animals from friends and family. Of them she wrote, "Even (they) have little messages to give... and I listened to their silent messages this morning and felt lucky to be alive..." We are the fortunate. We have survived unto this moment. There are little messages of love for most of us today. But many survive unloved. Like the man who wrote to me from Walla Walla, WA where he is confined to a 'correctional' institution. He sent five carefully printed lines that end with the poignant word... homesickness. So brief the message that I know he does not expect a reply. He had read my stories and dreamed of his Minnesota "motherland". His letter found me yesterday. It bears two previous addresses. It has been patiently seeking me. Perhaps the faraway castaway is waiting for mail from the motherland. But I am not as brave as I used to be and it is a risk to befriend prison inmates. I am still considering what to do.
"April Twilight" also arrived yesterday and fell open to page three. I read what Willa Cather had penned on sorrow. "Sorrow keeps a stone house Builded grim and gray." I think it is a like a prison and wonder what kind of a jail structure the letter came from.
I walked to the store today (10 blks) to purchase things needed to make a nice cake for Bruce's visit tomorrow. On my return I found myself under a tree of withered fruit. The tree was full of robins! I could not believe my eyes.
"April Twilight" also arrived yesterday and fell open to page three. I read what Willa Cather had penned on sorrow. "Sorrow keeps a stone house Builded grim and gray." I think it is a like a prison and wonder what kind of a jail structure the letter came from.
I walked to the store today (10 blks) to purchase things needed to make a nice cake for Bruce's visit tomorrow. On my return I found myself under a tree of withered fruit. The tree was full of robins! I could not believe my eyes.
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