"As in all sweetest music, a tinge of sadness was in every note. Nor do we know how much of the pleasures even of life we owe to the intermingled sorrows. Joy cannot unfold the deepest truths, although deepest truth must be deepest joy. Cometh white-robed Sorrow, stooping and wan, and flingeth wide the doors she may not enter. Almost we linger with Sorrow for very love." George MacDonald, Phantastes
Rain falls softly, washing
the concrete as efficiently
as a pounding storm. Sidewalk chalk
is a messy medium- crumbles and smears
skin and clothing with little or no pressure
or provocation. But the rain,
the wild and wonderful rain sends colors
running like tears down the driveway.
I watch them go, lingering with Sorrow
for very love.