There are books that make me cry. Kids’ books. Books I read aloud to Tom. The crying part is usually at the end, which means I can manage to just struggle through, voice cracking, eyes spilling over, reaching the end just in time to pause to regain my composure. So far the major offenders are “The House at Pooh Corner” and “An Owl and Three Pussycats,” and “The Selfish Giant.”

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing

On the way to pick up T from preschool, I thought I saw a plane flying over the car, coming from the Turner’s Airport. But when I craned my neck to see, leaning forward to look up through the windshield, I saw it was a bald eagle. It was enormous & its head shone in the late afternoon sun. I’ve heard there is a pair at Barton’s Cove so it makes sense that I might see one.

Was it my sister who told me it’s good luck to see an unusual animal? I choose to believe it’s true.