This time next week I will be waking up in Robert Frost's house. I am hoping for five days of sunshine there, although perhaps it always rains in the White Mountains.
This whole terrible week has been like living in a Frost poem. Think "The Hired Man" or "Home Burial." Or the poem that Baron has chosen as our theme for the week. You'll hear about that one soon enough. Believe it or not, I think the house may now have an Internet connection, unless Frost's mouse has chewed through the wiring.
I still feel like the walking dead. Reading and writing have not been curative. The best solution has been to work in the garden; and as a result, I am covered with bloody insect bites. My arms look as if I have the pox.
Daytime is better than nighttime.
3 comments:
The daytime that follows a funeral is a numb hangover. I'm wishing you a replenishing week at The Frost Place. (I'll be quietly longing to be there with all of you.)
When I read about the service (in the paper this morning) my thoughts were with you...I think you are so wise to work in the garden in the fresh air so you aren't fenced in with the feelings. Take good care this daytime and especially this night.
Julia, fenced in with the feelings is a good way to describe this shocking event and everything surrounding it.
Dawn, immersion in Frost Place activities will be curative for you. Get loads of hugs. I too will be longing to be there.
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