my last conversation with Delani...
The cold stillness of the morning, gazing up at the predawn, black canvas covered with fiery stars...
Years of my mother writing Proverbs on scraps of yellow paper for me...
My friends...
The sound of rain on a cold, winter, Saturday morning as I lay beneath the warm blankets...
A cup of hot coffee...
The smell of smoke from the chimney in the night air...
My memories...
Parents who loved me enough to spare me from materialism...
God, whose mercies are new every morning.
Do those "memories" include spinning until dizzy and then trying to sprint across Room 7 (HSCA) or composing haikus about sewing and wet dogs?
ReplyDeleteTucker smells....
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darning hoop.
that's all I can recall.
they do and I've actually thought of both those since I've been here...as for the chair; what was I thinking?
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