Maybe, in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost. Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single, overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover - drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each - what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them. Knowing all the while that their lives are fleeting.

~~ H. Murakami



Apparently my deer wrote a journal entry a couple days ago on All Souls' Day. An unusual and wondrous meeting. Given the nature of the holiday and her being an old lady sometimes, she got a little overly sentimental. Don't mind her, she doesn't realize I've gotten a hold of her personal diary.











She could not see her, of course, but in some way 21 knew herself to be in special company that afternoon.