The heart’s seasons seldom coincide
with the calendar. Who among us has
not been made desolate beyond all
words upon some golden day when the
little creatures of the air and meadow
were life incarnate, from sheer joy of
living? Who among us has not come
home, singing, when the streets were
almost impassable with snow, or met
a friend with a happy, smiling face,
in the midst of a pouring rain?

~Myrtle Reed, Old Rose and Silver

Toni 2/20/16