And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
-Maya Angelou

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Postscript

Yesterday the rain fell continuously for most of the day. Then around 4pm there was a break in the rain, so I went for a long solitary walk along the beach. At one point, I looked up and saw this:





A hole in the sky. 

Jack is most certainly looking down on me. 

All is well.

Onward. 
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