The vehicle is not destroyed, sweet child,
your view has simply been distorted;
it is a small crack,
like a hairline in the windshield glass.

Drive slowly,
stop often to rest and look around you.

Breathe, refuel.

The journey will take its own twists,
make yourself supple for the winding road.

If you get lost I will come for you,
no matter the height of the moon,
nor the nearness of the dawn.

I promise you this.

©Cindy Taylor 2008

She was no longer wrestling with the grief,

but could sit down with it as a lasting companion

and make it a sharer in her thoughts.
Author: George Eliot

Guess what I got at the library…