My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Incomplete
In the beginning God created all kinds of beautiful things. He made suns, moons and stars. He made earth and mountains. He fashioned oceans, rivers and any number of animals. But it was not complete until he made man. And man was incomplete until there was woman. Only when there were people could he say it was good.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment