For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
-Percy Bysshe Shelley,
The Cloud, 1820
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A hug
It struck me today, crying in my Dad's arms, that I honestly can't remember the last time he really held me before that moment. That made me sad, but so glad to be held.
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