Welcome Home, Emma E. . .
I am by nature not a mover, but a thinker. I think a lot and have been muchly criticized for it. By people saying I read too much into life. Mostly by people who never had a clue. If my friend Emerson is to be taken as an authority, then to think is to act. The body may slow as is the case of aging, but Spirit thinks itself a perpetual 35, which is a necessary preparation for ongoing life, here and elsewhere.
Awards may not hang on the walls, but many hang on the heart. One came this day to tell me that my repetitive lectures bear fruit because of the evidence in this poignant photo. Emma E. this newly minted daughter came home to arms that already know the shape of her heart. They will hammock and support her and catch her for as long as there will be need.
Her father knew his father’s arms when he came new to this world, so the new father with tenderness remembered. The emanating love in this photograph far surpasses anything this world could award. It is priceless.
The snow covers the grasses on this very cold day and is marred by the traffic in the streets. Soon its pristine purity will carry the dark residue of its activity. Once I kept shutters closed to the streets and opened them to the back yard where there was life I could understand and cope with.
There were birds at the feeder, arguing still, evergreens growing in trust that life is ever new each day, demanding our very best with the promise that life is ever good.
Welcome home Emma E. It is enough to know at this time that life is ever good. You chose well. There is love in abundance. You have rekindled in these harshest of times, my zest for ongoing life. You are a fresh dawn for eternity. Welcome home. I will always love you.