We're back . . .

. . . but we're drained. Of the last six days, four were spent on the road, while two were spent burying my mother-in-law. Such a trip would be totalizing under the best of circumstances.

Let me assure you, these were not the best of circumstances.

There is a famous poem, frequently anthologized, by the Imagist poet William Carlos Williams. Here it is quoted in its entirety:

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

I have a red wheelbarrow. And so much has depended on it for so long that sometimes I worry it is about to give out. I know that many of you reading have prayed often for my wheelbarrow--not to mention those noisy, fussy chickens that are always hanging around it--over this past year. Believe me when I say that your prayers have carried it through in ways you can't begin to know and I can't begin to share--at least not here. For that I thank you sincerely as I likewise pray that the wheelbarrows of each of your lives are never loaded beyond what they can rightly bear.