Months ago, while winter held sway in the hills of western Maine, one of my favorite writers and her spouse (both of whom my spouse and I are proud to call friends) planned to visit and shake off the doldrums of their inhospitable city in our lovely winter woods. We e-mailed and phoned and planned for the weekend, but at the last minute, had to reschedule due to a persistent flu in our house. Sadly, while we coughed our way back to health, they were experiencing great sadness due to a careless driver who did not respect a crosswalk. Emergency rooms, surgery and physical therapy have been their unwelcome companions since.
Finally, though, an e-mail last week. Beth, we are well enough to travel, the cast is off his arm and he can drive. Perhaps we could come to Maine?
Yes, of course, please do come to visit
We had a perfect weekend of talking and walking and seeing sights that were beautiful and healing. We ate good food and laughed at each other's jokes and stories.
On Sunday morning, he decided to shed a vestige of the accident and the long hair and beard fell victim to a trimmer purchased at the local Walmart. We sprinkled the beard hair under the bushes for the birds to take and weave into their nests--little babies will sleep in the softness of something that had once been a sign of despair