...

this amazingly beautiful and astute poem was sent to me by a dear friend:

do not weep

do not stand by my grave and weep
i am not dead, i do not sleep.
i am a thousand winds that blow,
i am a diamond glint on snow.
i am the sunset on ripened grain,
i am the gentle autumn rain.
when you awake in the autumn hush,
i am the swift uplifting rush.
of quiet birds in circling flight,
i am the soft starshine at night.
do not stand by my grave and cry,
i am not there, i did not die.

this is exactly it. so far, i have seen my grand-father in a cloud formation, a fluff on the wind, a crow, a couple of beetles, the heart of a peony and, most surprisingly, as a little light green catterpillar in a wild rose i wanted to smell, on which occasion, i was so surprised to see him that i croaked out loud: 'is it you?'

(last night was wonderful, we danced, and laughed, and drank and ate. and listened to Patsy Cline, whom my grand-father loved. so good. the children and i are leaving for a few days, back on thursday with more grand-father stories...)