Today's Flowers: Between the Lily and the Turtle
I am reading Neil Gaiman's 1997 collection of short stories, Smoke and Mirrors. In one story he notes the sorrow that accompanies a father's joy as he fills his sleeping children's Christmas stockings. It is the sorrow that comes with knowing that nothing lasts forever, that time won't let you sit still and be comfortable--not for too long, anyway. I love Gaiman's writing for saying what I know and feel so well. I feel this sorrow when I walk along the beach--or anywhere at all, really.