Cold sun feels good

As I sit indian-style on my bed, soaking up cold autumn sun, and listening to piano from Finding Neverland - I ponder a couple of things. One, the internet. I take it for granted now - only really noticing how much I use it when it's not available to me. So nothing new -- it just struck me as I read a blog this idea of virtual paper...virtual pens...which are not really as romantic or adventurous as the real thing but are still better for the sheer fact that we can share. That we can communicate. In the psuedo-anonymous world of blogging, people feel safe enough to put pieces of themselves into "cyberspace." Effectively inscribing their secrets, fears, joys, loves, passions, and hates on parchment and sending them to sea in bottles or tiny vessels made of paper mache'. Anyone may happen by in a rowboat or a liner, or maybe noone at all for months or years until it reaches the opposite shore. But someone reads and someone loves that you write.

I've just been enjoying the writing of a friend from a year ago. I've read her work many times, but I think today I began to understand her better. Her honesty is beautiful and her simple sincerity stands like a willow, strong but without overlooking her imperfections. Life holds confusion - and chaos - but what do wind and rain do but make a willow still more beautiful?