Someone just got back from Baltimore, black trappings in their grief and bent from sorrow.
Then, we have a special dinner, an after dinner drink and conversation. The night is quiet, somber as we reflect.
Man has not changed in all these years. What frightens him is yet and still the unknown.
Death, in all its faces, makes us wary of the mirror we see in each other.
Belated birthday wishes, Edgar.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Some mysteries should remain so. The flowers and cognac are of concern only to two. It’s appalling to me that there are those who hold self-serving curiosty above respect.
i agree with Anne!
its a beautiful tradition that someone has gone through pains to preserve. and it should like Jerome says be respected.
Happy Birthday Mr. Poe!