The weekend came and went in a blur. I worked in the AZ room for a while and W finished it up. I was wracked on Sunday, no energy to move. W pulled it through to the finish line.
Here's a poem for W:
How does the light filter through,
this way and then that way,
finding what is always new
for the perfection of this day?
And everything you have done,
the power and beauty will always stay
just as this light from this sun
and every color and every hue,
seems only to have just begun.
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