I'm pained to learn about it, Carrol and Peter. Though Carrol has been
sounding us on it from time to time... it's very sad.
I've just got into "late sixties" and wonder what infirmities age has in store
for me -- I avoid getting scary by putting off any "sense and notion" of it.
Still, I do contemplate what the last quartet says:
Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
Regards and best wishes,
--- On Sun, 1/18/09, Peter Montgomery <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
From: Peter Montgomery <[log in to unmask]>