So the bat has returned to my bedroom. My fear is of an irrational nature. Must think it through. A bat is basically a little mouse with wings. Cats hunt mice. Tomorrow I’m going to pick up a cat with wings. Okay, that won’t work. Tomorrow I’m going to get cat, a model aeroplane and some duct tape . . . and hope PETA doesn’t find out.
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
In Memory.
Arthur (Art) Colin Frizzell 1923- 2003.
On July 2, 2003, our family lost a very special person. But many memories remain in our hearts.
A breeze, which blows across the field to cool my brow,
a shadow that moves through the garden;
rain, which falls when the leaves are wilting,
a star that guilds me home when I'm lost.
The answer that comes when I'm befuddled,
the presence that comforts when I'm lonely;
the joke I recall when I need to laugh—
you had to go:you never left me.
Poem by his son, Colin.
On July 2, 2003, our family lost a very special person. But many memories remain in our hearts.
A breeze, which blows across the field to cool my brow,
a shadow that moves through the garden;
rain, which falls when the leaves are wilting,
a star that guilds me home when I'm lost.
The answer that comes when I'm befuddled,
the presence that comforts when I'm lonely;
the joke I recall when I need to laugh—
you had to go:you never left me.
Poem by his son, Colin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)