Journal entry by Al Negstad — 18 minutes ago
There are a number of "shy" readers of this blog who never post comments on it. Instead they send me emails...sort of a "for your eyes only" kind of message. One of those emails said in effect "Because of the blog Joanne has been much on my mind this year." That warmed my heart. If the blog has done nothing else than keep Joanne's memory more alive I'm satisfied.
Every person is remarkable in his or her own way. Joanne certainly was and lived in a way that touched many lives. Keeping the memories of her alive is a wonderful thing and I'm pleased to have a role in it.
After my post about visiting the cemetery in the snow D sent me this poem.
Graveyard in The Snow
Martina E. Elenbaas
"Today, I cannot find your grave,
because the stone with your name
is set in the earth,
down, where it is not in the way,
when the caretakers mow the grass,
now you are covered with snow.
"Everything is white,
so full of peace, so still,
I sit on the bench,
it is so cold, but
I feel close to you,
after all you are cold,
under the earth,
under this white sheet,
hidden, but there, I know.
"Only a raven,
shiny in funeral coat of feathers,
black against the white,
sits with me, in a tree,
not far, insistently cawing,
a warning, an emphatic word
of solace."
Blessings,
Al
Every person is remarkable in his or her own way. Joanne certainly was and lived in a way that touched many lives. Keeping the memories of her alive is a wonderful thing and I'm pleased to have a role in it.
After my post about visiting the cemetery in the snow D sent me this poem.
Graveyard in The Snow
Martina E. Elenbaas
"Today, I cannot find your grave,
because the stone with your name
is set in the earth,
down, where it is not in the way,
when the caretakers mow the grass,
now you are covered with snow.
"Everything is white,
so full of peace, so still,
I sit on the bench,
it is so cold, but
I feel close to you,
after all you are cold,
under the earth,
under this white sheet,
hidden, but there, I know.
"Only a raven,
shiny in funeral coat of feathers,
black against the white,
sits with me, in a tree,
not far, insistently cawing,
a warning, an emphatic word
of solace."
Blessings,
Al
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