I can hear some animal move at the far side of the back yard, near the trees.
The air is cool.
The last of the weekend is gathering itself, preparing to sleep and strengthen to face another crazy week.
I finally tore myself away from the insistence of the internet that if I did not spend ALL my time writing to congressmen, signing petitions and donating money to the Democrats, I would be personally responsible for the downfall of our country.
I spent a lovely chunk of my best-brain time today reading much of the fourth of the six printed-out volumes of writings here on CaringBridge. For those of you who worry, like I do, that this was not the stated intent of the CaringBridge site: I have, since the beginning, been sending CaringBridge a monthly donation. If, G-d willing, this ever becomes a book, and if that book ever makes a profit, (no guarantee in today's publishing world,) part of that will also go to CaringBridge.
I see that writing nightly has been one of the things that has kept me (relatively) sane. And that committment came about because you who had been reading since my beloved fell ill informed me, after the shock of his death, that I must continue writing my own journey now.
What has touched me most strongly has been the tremendous loving support, humor and good counsel that I have received throughout this period from those of you who have written back. You have not let me walk this journey alone, but have held me as I've careened back and forth between wailing and barking laughter.
I am more grateful than I know how to say.