J.R.R. Tolkein wrote that, while beautiful things last, they are their own memorial. It is only when they are gone forever that "they pass into song." So I don't have to say what a wonderful visit I am having.
As for this morning, like every morning this summer, the window is open for the cats. The dog tries to sleep despite the light in his eyes. I light a candle against the chilly breeze. The air smells wonderful this morning, like chocolate raspberry torte flavored coffee, or the leftover brownies from dinner.
I am not angst ridden today, nor am I in pain. I don't want to drink or cut, and I'm grateful for it. It's quiet outside and I will leave you here on the doorstep, with the zinnia shining in the light.
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