chickenshoot (chickenshoot) wrote,

Always hard waving good-bye to my Grandma after a visit...

The November sunshine had gone. The chill of winter had come into the air, and as I drove over the hills to the station I felt that I was going away from something very wonderful and very precious. For the love and friendship of those who have their faces turned towards the sunset is sometimes as rare and sweet and unworldly as that of little children. Perhaps they both are nearer the infinite, and so can understand.

from "MARK TWAIN AND THE HAPPY ISLAND" by Elizabeth Wallace
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