The First of the Three Spirits Last night my mom and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor and sifted through a box of the past. For such a small family we have an inordinate number of remembrances — notes written in perfect copperplate, congratulatory telegrams, handmade Valentines to long-dead crushes. We read through letters my grandparents wrote to each other when they met (“You are mine, my only love forever.”); we saw glimpses of the hurting and clumsy young people they were before we were the hurting and clumsy young people they raised.
That is an incredible story of prose and passion. I have to qualify the following statement as being overbearing, but just reading this has enriched my understanding of the power of the written word. I am grateful to have read this. Thank you Robin.
Thank you. This is a lovely Christmas gift to strangers.
That is an incredible story of prose and passion. I have to qualify the following statement as being overbearing, but just reading this has enriched my understanding of the power of the written word. I am grateful to have read this. Thank you Robin.