My brother Carl went to the hospital on the morning of the last day of his life. My sister who was with him says he made jokes and laughed with doctors, nurses and others who were attending him. I remembered that this morning, and suddenly inside myself I heard his laugh again, and saw again how he always ran his fingers through his hair when he was kidding around. The love remains.
The gold finch have traded their winter drab for bright, flashy, yellow feathers. How do such colors blend into the landscape? How very limited are my human skills to take notice of all there is.
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