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I woke this morning to a note from Erin, that her beloved sister Wendy died this weekend while vacationing in Mexico. Wendy was thirty years old.
Erin has written about this here.
Life is seeming particularly cruel these past weeks; my small garden is not large enough to contain it, and far too small to balance it.
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I'm sorry to hear that. Sometimes death piles deep. Like keeps cracking up through it with seed leaves.
Smell the sun, hear the grass, taste your own breath and force laughter until it flows like a primed pump past the hiccups. Why should it need to wait for a rhyme or reason either?
Posted by: Pearl | 12 July 2005 at 12:43 PM
Bad news does seem to come in waves and there are times they drag you with them and keep you under for awhile. I'm sorry. I hope you can remember to look for the blossoms, though they may seem small and hidden, they do bloom again.
Posted by: Cyndy | 12 July 2005 at 08:10 PM
On the other hand, Wendy would have loved your garden.
Posted by: Erin | 12 July 2005 at 08:45 PM
Life is such a paradox. When we let it in, we find how fragile it is. But, if we keep it out, we find how much we miss the deep waters.
I wouldn't trade 80 mph on a motorcycle for anything. Nor would I miss reading these pages.
This is a community I treasure.
Courage
Posted by: Ken | 12 July 2005 at 11:06 PM
Ah, Erin.
Here you are.
Consoling me.
Posted by: SB | 12 July 2005 at 11:22 PM