A long and thoughtful drive, to appreciate, to say goodbye.

I absolutely could not wait to share this! How awesome is this Valentines wreath?! We can't afford it at the moment, but you can buy it for 25% off here, from TwoInspireYou.

I still need to pick up a few more cards, but I did make another step toward being ready for Valentines Day: buying the Sprinkles red velvet cupcakes mix, of course!

As I get older, I yearn for two things more deeply: privacy, and less creamer in my coffee. What do you yearn for most deeply?

Because fall and winter here sometimes makes me cry.

The Burial of the Minnisink, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

On sunny slope and beechen swell,
The shadowed light of evening fell;
And, where the maple's leaf was brown,
With soft and silent lapse came down,
The glory, that the wood receives,
At sunset, in its golden leaves.

Far upward in the mellow light
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white,
Around a far uplifted cone,
In the warm blush of evening shone;
An image of the silver lakes,
By which the Indian's soul awakes.

But soon a funeral hymn was heard
Where the soft breath of evening stirred
The tall, gray forest; and a band
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand,
Came winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.

They sang, that by his native bowers
He stood, in the last moon of flowers,
And thirty snows had not yet shed
Their glory on the warrior's head;
But, as the summer fruit decays,
So died he in those naked days.

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt of shells and beads.

Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death dirge of the slain;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief.

Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless,
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud
Asked for his rider in the crowd.

They buried the dark chief; they freed
Beside the grave his battle steed;
And swift an arrow cleaved its way
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain,
The rider grasps his steed again.

Elliot and I went to a western-themed dinner party last night with all of Elliot's co-workers. I was "Saloon Girl B" and Elliot was "Gambler B." No, we were not given real names. It was awkward, but at least we got a cute photo out of the deal.

I've finally put my mind to ordering some pictures and prints for my growing collection of frames. I recently ordered this poster for our office. I'm excited to see how it looks framed in white on our steel desk, or perhaps on our new bookcase?