I was going to post a poem this morning. (And maybe I will later.)
But first, I visited some blogs and . . . ok, I can contain myself no longer.
I have a couple of favorites to which I returned this morning and which, per usual, I was unable to finish reading.
I l-o-n-g-e-d to read them leisurely and thoughtfully and contemplatively. I probably have a comment or two in me.
But the font is like this.
They are, literally, physically painful to read.
I realize that you don't know about this part of life. You are not yet holding books at arm's length, trying out graduated lenses that cause you to run into walls, explaining desperately to your eye doctor that she has to Do Something because you're planning on at least 40 more good years of reading ahead.
And I know that that little teeny tiny font looks good. It bespeaks intellect and artistry and creativity and organization. I know all this because of the beginnings of your blog entries, which I love, but not because of the endings, which I seldom reach.
You know who you are.