Day 37 – A True Story, Repeated Word for Word as I heard it.

It was summer time, and twilight. We were sitting on the porch of the farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and “Aunt Rachel” was sitting respectfully below our level, on the steps, — for she was our servant, and colored. She was of mighty frame and stature; she was sixty years old, but her eye was undimmed and her strength unabated. She was a cheerful, hearty soul, and it was no more trouble for her to laugh than it is for a bird to sing. She was under fire, now, as usual when the day was done. That is to say, she was being chaffed without mercy, and was enjoying it. She would let off peal after peal of laughter, and then sit with her face in her hands and shake with throes of enjoyment which she could no longer get breath enough to express. At such a moment as this a thought occurred to me, and I said: —

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Day 35 (cont.) – Because I could not stop for Death

It has been a while since I’ve written on this blog. I think a whole year and some, actually.  I will not dwell on it, and I will not make excuses. Instead I’ll just pick up where I left off and continue.  I came across this poem about five or six years ago. I remember, because of where I was when I read it. At the old Pioneer apartment, with no lawn space, but a park across the street to make up for it. Continue reading