Saturday, January 19, 2008
You read your Emily Dickinson, and I my Robert Frost. The rest of the song is sad but I've had this line in my head all afternoon as Tom read his John Mortimer (The Penge Bungalow Murders), and I the book about Virginia Woolf and Vanessa Bell at St Ives. He in the warm kitchen, I in the cooler living room; dogs going from room to room throughout the day. The sun was streaming in, but I had no reason to go out. Ah, peace. I do so appreciate times such as these, and ask for little more. A simple soul am I.