Touch me deep...

downloading pics from my weekend and seeing a golden hair elfin pixie fairy appear like an angel in all my fav pics :heart: :kiss: :heart:
 
Watching my daughter slowly awaken to her son crying for her.... seeing her smile at him, and Eajon, nestling into her and calming.

holding him... SMELLING him before stumbling home at 5:30 in the morning....

ah yes, i Love these days! :heart:
 
Anne Sexton:

What is reality?
I am a plaster doll; I pose
with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall
upon some shellacked and grinning person,
eyes that open, blue, steel, and close.
Am I approximately an I. Magnin transplant?
 
Posted on the Colleen RIP thread. McKenna and I didn't want to clutter it up with back and forth comments, and anyway our reaction fits the subject of this thread:

shereads said:
The internet is a wonderful, terrible place to make friends. Some of us, shy or just in need of a break from 'real-world' intimacy, come here believing we can enjoy the special people we meet without being vulnerable to them. Then someone like Colly proves us wrong.

The rest of the post is a personal memoir and is just as moving.

:heart:

Roxanne and McKenna
 
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See above.


For someone who makes her living with words, I haven't been able to eloquently express the loss I've felt at Colly's passing. Sher's words summed it up for me in a way I've been searching to express for days now.
 
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Sunset
K. Bush

Could be honeycomb
In a sea of honey
A sky of honey
Whose shadow, long and low
Is slipping out of wet clothes?
And changes into
The most beautiful
Iridescent blue

Who knows who wrote that song of Summer
That blackbirds sing at dusk
This is a song of colour
Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust
Then climb into bed and turn to dust

Every sleepy light
Must say goodbye
To the day before it dies
In a sea of honey
A sky of honey
Keep us close to your heart
So if the skies turn dark
We may live on in
Comets and stars


Who knows who wrote that song of Summer
That blackbirds sing at dusk
This is a song of colour
Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust
Then climb into bed and turn to dust
Who knows who wrote that song of Summer
That blackbirds sing at dusk this is a song of colour
Where sands sing in crimson, red and rust
Then climb into bed and turn to dust

The chorus:
Oh sing of summer and a sunset
And sing for us, so that we may remember
The day writes the words right across the sky
They go all the way up to the top of the night

 
Roxanne Appleby said:
Posted on the Colleen RIP thread. McKenna and I didn't want to clutter it up with back and forth comments, and anyway our reaction fits the subject of this thread:



The rest of the post is a personal memoir and is just as moving.

:heart:

Roxanne and McKenna

This touched me today... that this thread has become a good place to be - to share how we are touched, and in the process to touch others.

Thank you Roxanne and McKenna :rose:
 
Seeing the gentle wonder in my grand daughter's eyes when she kisses her baby brother's head.....

the empathy and tummy pains she is having for her mom..... What an amazing kid!

:heart:
 
" I don't know why
But somewhere dreams come true
And I don't know where
But there will be a place for you
And every time you look that way
I would lay down my life for you
I don't know why
I know these things, but I do


I don't know why
But some are going to make you cry
And I don't know how
But I will get you by, I will try
They're not trying to cause you pain
They're just afraid of loving you
I don't know why
I know these things, but I do"
 
"And if you EVER need anything, I shall plant my butt right here and not move until you have it."

:heart:
 
I didn't know what 'love' was, before you.
Now, I don't know how I lived without it.

:heart: :heart:
 
pet turned phantom in the night.
rippling, mimicking images turned
inside out. shadow casting out
dreams, into another time, place.
 
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