My college graduating class had what my husband Jim would have called a “reunion of significance” this year–one of those reunions that we as undergrads would have witnessed and thought, Damn, they’re old.
And the jackets: how can they be seen in public like that?
Now that we all have joined, to one degree or another, the computer age, it has been possible to reconnect with classmates I haven’t heard from since graduating. One of them is a pilot, and when I told him of Jim’s death he told me that next time he flew he would “tip a wing” for Jim.
To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons Shudders hell through all its regions.
The nest on Jim’s twig wreath, just outside my window, is gathering more cornflower blue denizens. The parents are on high alert: one frequently mans the nearby pathway against intrusion, while one sits on the nest and swoops violently upwards if someone dares open the forest-green door to conduct human business.
In Gathering Blue, the young heroine has a magical artistic gift: her hands infuse colors into dye, which she spins into threads which memorialize a story through uncannily beautiful embroidery.