Foggy, overcast Monday morning.
The long-planned-for weekend is twelve hours behind us.
The delightful guests of the weekend have left for home. We don’t see them often enough, and parting is always softly sad.
We ate well, laughed a lot, sang a lot. We celebrated a birthday with cake.
The musical H and her schoolmates have been preparing for all semester is over.
She lost her voice after the first show, but went on in spite of that, mouthing the words, playing her part, happy to be there and sad to be silent on a stage full of song.
The lead roles were mostly filled by seniors who are right now making their plans to leave this rural nest.
We’re not their parents, but on closing night we still felt a tinge of that bittersweet tug, knowing we were seeing the last of something. In four years, that will be H, singing her last song on that stage, and then, of course, we will be puddles.
We had a wonderful weekend. Monday marches on.
And this song seems kind of perfect today.
Grongar 