He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
Or rather, he passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
-Emily Dickenson
I've been aching on your behalf, but I haven't known what to say. Just the other night, I got word that a dear (but long-separated) friend of mine, someone who is a LOT like me in many ways, is fighting a tumor. I don't even know where yet. I haven't been able to get in touch with him. Do stay in touch - even if I generally hand the phone to Judy if you call, because, well, I just feel you two are closer. But please don't imagine I'm not thinking of all three of you, as well. I don't often feel I'm in a place where I can offer you any new insights or advice, or even know what would be comforting to say... other than, we keep you all in our thoughts.
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