A very cold wind this morning, blowing leaves everywhere, under grey skies. Bleak morning ... which seems to fit the bleakness inside me, and the bleakness in a world without Mom ...
The leaves are now falling in earnest now, blowing everywhere. I think of George MacDonald's Sexton who tends the dead laying on the ground like leaves till the Resurrection.
John Keats wrote of Joy and Melancholy ... that the former is to be found within the latter. I wonder and wonder and wonder why that should be ... even if I know that this is so ...
Oh Momma I miss you.
Lord Jesus Please take good care of my Momma.
I love you Momma.
I love you Jesus.
Charles Delacroix
Eve of the Feast of St Albert
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