I imagine you want to see these tender sides of me because I have to believe someone does.  Whether that was true or I only convinced myself of it doesn’t matter.  That hope found its home for a while, and opened.

So – in my imagination – I send you little mementos from any ordinary pleasure that ambles through my day.  This morning, it was reading Hal Borland describe the mystery of winter twilight, and the song of running water, ushering life back into the landscape, and all of us.  His kinship with the unremarked delights of the everyday makes me think of you.  Kind and funny and observant, and so quietly aware of the unremarked delight in me.