when i sing she doesn't care;
when i whistle she looks at me expectantly
"My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the moon."
Dear Miss Whistle only this year I found your wonderful blog ( I think via Liberty London Girl). Lately, I've been wishing I could think of some comment that wasn't lame or stalker-ish just to say how very much your writing is enjoyed here in old Portland town. How delightful your photos of golden California are. How you mentioned the beloved William Stafford. My poet hero. I read Cherry Menlove (serious anglophile-thing happening in my 40's for goodness sake I read everything Miss Read wrote!) and at first her constant I Love You's upon concluding a blog post drove me crazy. But as I thought about it, I realized how beautiful that sentiment was -just sent out into the vast universe of the internet-an I love you for reading, for stopping by. And life is brief and filled with such extremes -joys and sorrows and triumphs and losses. So, from a stranger, I love you.
Afton -- good :)k -- If I could tell you how cheering it is to get such supportive comments from readers. They get me through the day. I am so very grateful for your comment. I've got to say that I blame Mary Karr. If you haven't read Lit, do. Much love to you too. I'm so glad you stopped by. xxxps Not familiar with Cheryl Menlove; shall check it out.
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