She...

Thank you Harriett, because of your labor of love, she was born...


She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

~Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)

Happy Birthday Mom! I can't imagine a dearer mother than you. With every year that passes, nay, every mundane day and sometimes hour, I am overwrought with feelings of gratitude, abounding love, and such kindredness of spirit! The adage is wrong--it is time that makes the heart grow fonder. You are my healing balm, my laughing elixir, my greatest confidante. I long to share my every life's experience with you, so that yours may double in wonder and fulfillment and so that you can see firsthand, the blossom of your offspring. But if I want to be with you, all I have to do is summon you in heart and you are there, because I am so many pieces of you, we cannot truly be parted. Yet how can I ever be quite like you, to echo my sister, when you are God's definitive servant? His most innocent child? His ever willing student? I love who you are. You are my gold standard. "Teach me to number my days that I may apply my heart to wisdom." You are 56, you blessed daughter of Zion!