bits of leonard cohen lyrics are floating through my head now.
i feel very empty, & wait-ful.
time to re-heat some congr�, & eat it, & remind myself not to do anything rash. time to balance my checkbook. to pick a new book to read.
(note: i think the ending of �chelsea hotel #2� is maybe the most stunning anything, ever.)
i can't just sit here turning this st francis holy card over & over in my hands. in the picture, though, he has kind of a receding chin & something inner in me recoils at the depiction. the birds are nice, though. i feel sorry for one of them that looks like it has no place to land.
