When I first read Pom Pom she was festooning Blogland with images of hobbit houses and little houses, and enraptured I was. This grey bird house is in its colour unworthy of her collection, but I saw it for the manyth time and thought this time of her. 
Pom Pom loves people, she loves you, and she writes for you with gift after gift of loveliness. She thinks about you during her day, and I am mostly sure that she prays for you too. She knows that children are precious, but she knows that mums are precious too, and she tells us all the time. 
I think about Pom Pom in my hall because in a comment to her I once imagined that she would be going out as I would be coming in, given time and its mysteries, and perhaps we would pass invisibly in some virtual hall somewhere.
And all will be well with my world, virtual or otherwise!
1 comment:
Oh, I had to come back and tell you more. I figured out Google Earth and it feels good to know where those strawberries are running about the garden!
And . . . I am savoring Gilead. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize and I did not have it registered in my mind. I'm writing in it. Thank you, friend.
Happy Saturday to you, MM.
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