(This was supposed to have published last night. That’s what happens when you walk away from your computer before you’re it’s done what it’s supposed to do.)
From my heart:
The young woman I mentioned in this morning’s post came home from work tonight and went right to bed. She never even came into the room where we were sitting. I think her heart is heavy and that breaks mine.
I wonder if she’s at that intersection of life two Frost wrote about:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same,And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back.I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.