In November I remember:
Husband Hardy, looking out the window at the birds on the feeder while the first snow fall appears: "Elly, take a picture!"
My response: "It's the same as last year!"
And he said: "No, every year is special and different. Take a picture!
And I did.
This picture is for Hardy, this post dedicated to him, because "every year is different!"
It took me a long time, but now I've started to go through the basket of cards we received at Hardy's memorial service and from friends and relatives by mail. I'm amazed and overwhelmed by all the love expressed there. So many people touched Hardy's life in so many different ways!
A friend sent a photo of a memorable trip we took to Poland and Ukraine to get in touch with our roots. Here we are at Hardy's place of birth. It's a poignant memory!
I also want to remember my dad, the other favorite man in my life. He had a birthday in November and lived to the age of 92. (above, dad with brother Bernie).
The Winter Bird
Thou sing'st alone on the bare wintry bough,
As if spring with its leaves were around thee now;
And its voice that was heard in the laughing rill,
And the breeze as it whispered o'er meadow and hill,
Still fell on thine ear, as it murmured along
To join the sweet tide of thine own gushing song.
Sing on - though its sweetness was lost in the blast,
And the storm has not heeded thy song as it passed,
Yet its music awoke in a heart that was near,
A thought whose remembrance will ever prove dear;
Though the brook may be frozen, though silent its voice,
And the gales through the meadows no longer rejoice,
Still I felt, as my ear caught thy glad note of glee,
That my heart in life's winter might carol like thee.
--Jones Very
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