Summer’s Iconic Sun

South Shore Harbor Lighthouse at Sunset  (click for greater clarity)

The Sun

Mary Oliver
Have you ever seen
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
or have you too
turned from this world–
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

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82 thoughts on “Summer’s Iconic Sun

    1. Beauty, indeed, Martha. Few poets pay more loving attention to the natural world, and the gifts it has to offer, than Mary Oliver. I have several favorites from her, but this one was new to me, and it seemed to fit well with the photo.

      I can’t help but think of your eagles. What a wonder they were.


  1. “… or have you, too, gone crazy for power, for things?” Ding! As Bill likes to write, “we have a winner!” I won’t sully your blog with the “C” word, though that is my take-away from the poem, an indictment of the system. Wendell Berry and Mary Oliver sit on the same bench.

    1. You’re right, Jeff. They do have certain convictions in common, although I read Berry as more of a polemicist, even in his poetry, and Oliver as one who tends toward — well, perhaps the more personal.

      But Oliver certainly can sneak up with a sharp critique when we least expect it. As for Berry, he’s the one who also said, “Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.”

      Both of them say, “Pay attention to the world,” and “Live your life with integrity.” Not much to argue with there, however it works itself out in an individual life.

      So nice to have you stop by. You’re always welcome!


  2. I like the poem and I love the photo! I do have to confess though that I like the fringes of the sun, just before it rises and just after it sets, better than the whole sphere.

    1. Generally speaking, I favor the sun at the horizon myself. montucky. Sometimes, I like it partly hidden in clouds. But twice a year, I can catch it setting behind the lighthouse, and when the haze softened the view enough for me to shoot toward it, I thought I’d try to frame it like a halo behind the lighthouse.

      It reminds me of Orthodox iconography. It’s not an everyday sight, that’s for sure.


  3. I am impressed by the alignment of the lighthouse and the solar disc. Very well executed. It takes patience to wait for such a thing. Patience that comes from knowing that in time this will happen. Far too many people want something now, no waiting, no allowing for things to take their course.

    1. I’m more attuned to the movement of the sun than even the phases of the moon, Jim. The lighthouse, which lies about two city blocks from my place, almost functions as a sundial for me. When the sun passes to the north of it, summer’s coming. When it passes to the south and I no longer can see if from my computer, winter is on the way.

      It was a happy conjunction of timing and atmospheric conditions that let me capture this passage. When I saw the water beginning to turn pink, I shoved back my chair and went to see what I could see. Now you know what I saw.


  4. I applaud you Linda, on all accounts. A superb photo, and I echo Jim’s opinion about patience, and knowing, and of course, it’s a wonderful match-up for Oliver’s poetry.

    1. eremophila, you’re too kind. I wish the photo were more clear, but the hazy conditions that provided the pink sunset, combined with the distance to the lighthouse and my lack of experience, gave us what we have.

      And that sun was moving! It always amazes me how it seems to move more quickly as it approaches the horizon.

      Still, it’s one of my favorite photos. And it is a nice complement to Oliver’s poem. Truth to tell, I wanted to post the photo, and went searching for a poem to go with it. I was so glad to find this one, new to me and deeply appealing.


  5. A perfect match of words and image. I have only just discovered Mary Oliver so this is a new poem to me. Intriguingly, for me, my poem for this day was Philip Larkin’s Solar. Also a new poem to me. And something else new to me re: the sun. How the sun inspires us and lights up our lives!

    1. Don’t they fit nicely, Gallivanta? I knew just enough about Mary Oliver to know that I needed to search among her poems to find one that would fit, and find one I did.

      If you’re new to her work, you may or may not have come across “The Journey.” It’s my favorite of her poems, and such a perfect description of certain of my own experiences that I always quiver a little when I read it.

      And that Manhattanhenge! I’d never heard of it, and it’s simply wonderful. It’s my lighthouse dynamic, writ a bit larger, and a whole lot more urban. I think it’s just wonderful that it can be seen in Manhattan, too. The same sun shines on us all, and its seasonal rhythms never vary. Or so we hope.


      1. Thank you for the link to The Journey. I also enjoyed the Morning Poem. It’s a strange sensation when someone else writes your life or your emotions so exactly that you feel as though you are meeting yourself across the page.

      1. Actually, when I was in the area last Christmas, we discovered it on a trip over to Hunt. We didn’t stop, because it was getting late and it was raining — not a good time for a photo op. But it was quite a sight. I’d heard it had been moved, but had forgotten about it, which made the discovery even more fun.

  6. I love this. And your photo is indeed perfect. I always call those “Japanese Flag Suns.” Perfectly round, as red (or orange) as a sun can be.

    Don’t you love how her poems come full circle as the sun — and then end off with just a little twist of irony that brings the whole poem into clearer focus?

    1. What a great analogy, Jeanie. I’ve never once thought of Japan’s flag when I see these wonderful, round suns. But you know what did occur to me, just a few seconds ago? Tell Rick that I managed to get a photo of a lollipop sun! The ratio of “candy” to “stick” could be a little better, but there it is.

      And, yes – Oliver does like to bring things full circle. That may be one reason I enjoy her poetry, since i have some tendencies in that direction myself. And she does have so much to teach about how to look at the world, with attention and love.



  7. Dear Linda, What a perfect poem. I am reminded that life happens — outside my control, outside my intentions. The sun will rise and set and cross the sky without any thought or action from me. Like my breath. Is it enough to just be?

    1. Rosemary, you’ve reminded me of another favorite poem. Like Oliver’s, Longfellow’s captures the reassuring rhythms of life.

      “The tide rises, the tide falls,
      The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
      Along the sea-sands damp and brown
      The traveler hastens toward the town,
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

      Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
      But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
      The little waves, with their soft, white hands
      Efface the footprints in the sands,
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.

      The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
      Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
      The day returns, but nevermore
      Returns the traveler to the shore.
      And the tide rises, the tide falls.”

      Both poems seem to contain a word of permission to be. That “just” does give me pause now and then. It seems to me there’s active being as well as passive being. We need both. Sometimes I hear people use “just being” as an excuse for passivity — although I know you don’t mean that.

      This Longfellow poem’s been on my mind since your trip. Your photos of the sea stacks and such brought it to mind – I’m grateful for that.


        1. In a round-about way, Longfellow’s “Evangeline” was responsible for my beginning to write, and for this blog. And of course, being a child of the upper midwest, I memorized bits of “Hiawatha” — not to mention singing along with the Hamm’s beer commercials before I even knew their source.

          From what I’ve gathered, Frost and Sandburg aren’t much admired or taught today, either. It would be interesting (or depressing) to actually look at the modern secondary curriculum, but I guess I’ll let it pass.

          Thanks so much for stopping by, and adding your vote of appreciation for Longfellow.


    1. The sun and the lighthouse did better at alignment than I did, Steve. When I cropped the original photo, then posted the result into my blog, I realized that the lighthouse is “off” just a bit. It’s not perfectly centered above the poem and its title. I decided to embrace a little imperfection and not worry about it. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t even have noticed.

      “A Blessing” is a wonderful poem. Blooming out of one’s skin certainly is better than jumping out of it. It did remind me of the first time I fed an apple to a horse. I thought it would take the whole apple. Instead, it neatly bit off one side, and then stood there looking at me. Clearly, it wanted me to turn the apple, so I did, and it took another bite. It took four neat bites from the sides, and only then was willing to eat the core. I still laugh when I think about it.


  8. Here in Central Illinois, we haven’t even seen the sun in almost a week, so this photo and poem was a great reminder for how beautiful Ole Sol can be. We’ve had clouds and rain (lots of rain!) for days on end and, while the farmers were begging for moisture, everybody else seems to prefer rain at night so we can play during the daytime hours. Hard to please everyone, I suppose.

    You must have a great deal of patience, Linda. To stand staring at the sky until JUST THE RIGHT MOMENT to capture the sun behind the lighthouse is pretty amazing. I know I’d have been squinting and fretting that I’d damage my vision by looking into the sun, or fail to get anything but weird glowing things in the finished product.

    The constancy of sunrises and sunsets helps give order to our world — and beauty to it, too!

    1. It’s been raining here today, off and on. I managed to get my errands done without getting wet, so it’s the best of all possible worlds. We need rain, too, but even the presence of clouds is a blessing when heat indices are projected to top 105F.

      More impulse than patience was involved in getting the photo, Debbie. It was hazy enough that I could look at the sun without risk to my eyes. And there wasn’t much standing around. When I saw the sun was getting close to the lighthouse, I picked up the camera,and walked down to where I thought I could get a good shot. I moved a little to the right, then to the left, then took a series of photos and came home. I’d hoped for the “halo”, but I was surprised when I discovered it had come out so well.

      Sunrises and sunsets really give meaning to that expression, “the same, but different.” As far as I know, there’s never been a duplicate sunset in the history of the world. Amazing, when you think of it.


    1. I think my favorite Beatles tune just might be “Here Comes the Sun.” Here’s my favorite video for you, to go along with the lighthouse photo. There’s nothing in the world like the return of the sun after a long winter — or a single, especially dark night.


      1. Thanks Linda. I really like the Beatles and “Here Comes The Sun.” I had not heard the song in a very long time.

        My comments are rather short of late. I’ve been in hospital x 4 days. Placement of Pacemaker was done. I’m still recouping and very weak from new med.

        1. Oh, Yvonne. I’m sorry to hear about that. I hope the pacemaker is as good for you as it was for my mother. After she received hers, it was as though we’d gotten a new woman back. It really was wonderful.

          I hope you have a quick recovery. I wish I were closer, so I could help out. I’ll just send along some prayers, instead. Drop an email if you need anything.


  9. That is an incredible photo!  wow, and your poem touched my heart as if you were sitting on the back balcony and viewing the egrets and frigates and pelicans as we watched the sun settle over the mangroves. I would be just as happy sitting-standing there watching that amazing sunset. wWhat a great capture!

    am replying from a cybercafe-inbox reply, so I hope this works!


    1. Pink water rocks, don’t you think? Someday, I’d love to find a flock of roseate spoonbills in pink water. What a sight that would be.

      Speaking of sights, Lisa, I hope you have a good view of the perigee moon, and I hope higher tides aren’t creating more havoc down there. It’s the lower tides that are at issue in our bay system this morning.There are some frustrated fishermen who couldn’t get into their favorite spots because of the low tides. I’ll bet the herons and egrets are enjoying it, though.

      Despite all your frustrations, the cybercafé is doing the job – tell it thank you for all of us!


  10. What a fantastic photo. This is definitely a ‘non-cliché’ (using Proust’s principle) picture of sunset. I’ve enjoyed the poem too. Cautionary, poetic admonition… beware of losing ourselves and ‘gone crazy for power, for things.’ I like how it ends.

    1. Of course I knew exactly where to go to gain a bit more understanding of Proust’s principle, Arti! I found this short entry that explores de Botton’s “How Proust Can Change Your Life,” especially Chapter 5, where he explores cliché. Now, I need to go back and re-read your review. I may even make another run at de Botton himself.

      I really was struck by the poem, too. “Struck” is just the right word, I think. Reading it’s like cruising along through a lovely, placid bay, then suddenly running aground on a hidden reef, and watching everything tumble.


  11. Thank you for the poem, and a good photo to go with. It’s hard for me to find photos to pair with poems, so I usually give up. Mary Oliver is compelling – I needed to read this one again.

    1. In this case, GretchenJoanna, I was looking for a poem to accompany the photo. I always enjoy that process, because I find writing that’s new to me, whether poetry or prose.

      I agree with you about Oliver’s work. Of course I’m not equally fond of all her work, but the quality of her writing is so high and so consistent, there’s always something to delight. Another poet whose work often touches me in the same way is Evan Boland.

      Thanks for the visit. I’m glad you enjoyed the post.


  12. As poetic and aesthetic of a daybreak of dusk, excess of sunlight is something we don’t particularly like. Last year it was a hot and dry summer and this year it will be even worse. El Niño is coming and the community is alarmed. Power shortages are highly possible.

    Mr. Sun, please treat us with care and tenderness. I know you can, if you want to.

    1. Omar, I remember what it was like during our drought. No one waxed poetic about the sun in those days, unless it was poetry with a bit of an edge. The longing for rain and relief was palpable.

      I don’t know if you follow NOAA’s ENSO blog, but it’s always filled with interesting information. Their most recent discussion has lowered the possibility of an El Nino to 65%. As the saying goes, we’ll take what we can get. In the meantime, enjoy those (ver) small afternoon showers you’re having.


      1. This month’s ENSO Diagnostic Discussion starts off with “the chance of El Niño has decreased to about 65% during the Northern Hemisphere fall and early winter.”

        The last few months, chances were estimated to be around 80% for El Niño to have formed by the fall/early winter. So, we’ve gone from an estimated 1-in-5 chance that we won’t have an El Niño to a nearly 1-in-3 chance. However, 65% is still almost twice the climatological likelihood – that is, the long-term average of how often we experience El Niño conditions – so forecasters are still predicting El Niño will develop.”

        I understand these statistics concern the Northern Hemisphere and that is where Panama is not. Our authorities are saying that El Niño is a sure thing and agriculture will be severely affected. The Chamber of Commerce is holding emergency meetings in an effort to design strategies to be well prepared for the worse while still hoping for the best.

        The general mood in this country is not very cheerful at this moment. Fingers crossed. :-)

        1. Well, we’ll see. I’ve read several articles from Slate, Boquete, and elsewhere with an abundance of question marks and waffle words like “maybe,” “might,” and “could.”

          If you haven’t read any of Ricky Rood, his article here might offer some consolation.

          Fingers crossed!

    1. I always enjoy reading comments and finding people picking up on different aspects of a post or poem. You’re right that “a word billowing enough” is special. It makes me think of words pinned on a line, like laundry.

      I’m glad you enjoyed it, Cindy.


  13. I admire your speed in getting this right in alignment. The sun moves so quickly and yet you captured the lighthouse lamp “inside” the sun. It could have been quite beautiful with the sun to the left or the right, but creating it as you did got you got something extra…a halo, reminding one of those medieval icons or Russian icon paintings on wood panels. If one can ever catch the sun, you did here.
    Thank you for bringing Mary Oliver back again. She is becoming more familiar to me now.

    1. As a matter of fact, Georgette, I have a few other photos I took that night with the sun “otherwise placed,” like this one. One of the differences is that the sun is much more yellow in the photos with it above or to the side of the lighthouse. In the “halo” photo, you can see it beginning to sink into the layer of haze closer to the ground. Consequently, it’s half pink, half yellow. Such a delight.

      I thought immediately of an icon, myself. Had I not been pairing it with Mary Oliver’s poem, I might have titled it “Our Lady of the Lake.” Or, perhaps, “Our Lady of the Waters.” Then, I could have paired it with Leonard Cohen’s wonderful “Suzanne.”

      Do you have a good sunset-watching spot at your new place? I hope so – there’s no more satisfying way to end a day than with a setting sun.


  14. Lovely imagery like a divine halo behind the lantern room of such a steadfast beacon guiding mariners! Lovely poem too! Am I in love with the sun melting into the sea each night or the rumpled sea itself!! Would have thought ruffled as by the wind…but rumpled like slept in sheets makes it more comfortable in the summer doldrums.

    1. I don’t think our lighthouse is as attractive as yours, Judy, but we do love it. And I really was caught by the “rumpled” sea. Ruffled sounds to me like smooth water with a light breeze. Rumpled is a stiffer wind and little standing waves. I think the sun could disappear into that kind of sea like a hairbrush in a rumpled bed.

      It’s doldrums for sure around here, but we’re still making way. I hope you’re traveling, or doing other wonderful things.


  15. One of the things we have lost in our modern world is our emotional ties to the sun and to the moon; for a million years, we had nothing between us and the fangs and claws of darkness but a flame and the on-again off-again moon.

    Now, whole generations have grown up without knowing what a time-consuming burden light used to be. Fires have to be fed, minded, guarded. Candles burn down, oil lamps must be refilled. The danger of fire must always be guarded against. It has only been since the dawning of the electric age that we have been able to light our homes in a way we don’t have to pay attention to. We flip a switch and our world is lit with a brightness that fire cannot match.

    Until the electric light, we were at the mercy of darkness. No wonder we worshiped the constant, dependable sun. No wonder we plotted the phases of the moon. I suspect, however, that in a failure of technology we would relearn those lessons very quickly.

    Now, watch a sunrise or a sunset and try to make yourself believe at a gut level that it is you who is moving, not the sun.

    1. WOL, I had to smile at your last comment. Don’t you suppose every child in the world, learning the truth about the sun/earth relationship, hasn’t paused at least once to watch the sun and thought, “Nope. Not possible. That sun is moving.” It’s a comfortable fiction for us, that sometimes leads to delightful poetry, and even a musical or two.

      Speaking of songs, even civic life depended on human effort not so very long ago. One of my favorite songs as a kid was “The Old Lamplighter. When my folks built a new house in the ’50s, the outside lighting fixtures all featured flickering bulbs – perhaps a touch of nostalgia for the old ways. My grandparents’ town didn’t have street lights until electrification, as I recall, but my grandmother used to tell me stories about the lamplighters in Sweden.


    1. Dana, you have my permission. You may have to do a bit of a psychic time share with all the other people who want to be Oliver, but that’s ok. I’m not sure you’d even have to grow up first!

      Thanks for the compliment on the photo. Right now, I’m looking at it surrounded by lightning. We’ve been a little short on thunderstorms around here, so it’s pretty exciting. If we could get some rain, it would be even more exciting!


  16. Incredible photo, Linda! I thought it was a painting (and it would make an extraordinary one.) You are fortunate indeed to live so close to such a lovely lighthouse. I have a thing for them too.

    I’m glad you got some rain. We are in sore need and not a drop in sight. Although I was glad it was clear last night for the Super Moon. I looked for shooting stars last night until very late, but no luck. My yard was lit up like daylight though. Lovely nature.

    1. I think it would make a lovely watercolor, Kayti. I cropped it a bit because there’s a fleet of boats between me and it, but the colors are true. I’ve always thought that lighthouse keeper would be a terrific occupation. Hard, yes — but not lonely. There are a few old ones around the country you can rent for a vacation. Wouldn’t that be fun?

      I guess it’s one of those facts of life that there’s no seeing a super moon and a really good meteor shower at the same time. I didn’t see the moonrise, but I was up really early on Saturday morning, and it surely was bright. What I’ve always loved best is a full moon on new snow. I haven’t seen it in years, but I’d love to experience it again.

      Fingers crossed for rain for you.


  17. What a beautiful and inspirational poem this is. I can understand why the early Egyptians worshipped the sun. Always reliable – Ever nurturing – Providing warmth. There is nothing more comforting than just basking in the sun.

    1. Basking is wonderful, isn’t it? Not too hot, not too cool, always comfortable. Cats are the best baskers in the world. Even in summer, my kitty will look for a patch of sunlight to stretch out in. Of course, we’ve adopted the experience as a metaphor for certain sorts of relationships: “She basked in the warmth of her aunt’s approval,” and so on.

      I’m glad you enjoyed the poem, Mary. Oliver is such a treasure.


    1. You’re right, Teresa Evangeline. She has the ability to see clearly, and expresses her vision with equal clarity. Her words aren’t at all difficult, but they somehow manage to contain that greater reality that underlies the so-called “ordinary.” What a gift!


  18. What a magical picture – right time, right place for sure.
    A lighthouse touring trip? Now that sounds like fun. Been up one in Outer Banks and one in N. CA. but really feel like more investigation is required.
    Poem does portray that lazy confident movement of the sun.

    1. Just out of curiosity, was it Point Reyes you visited in California? I visited there before my sailing days, but I remember thinking, “Now, THIS is place that needs a lighthouse.” Too bad we lost the south jetty lighthouse. Velasco, too, for that matter.

      Ah, well. Times change. When I started sailing, the big landmark around Port O’Connor was a group of six towers (radio? telephone?) with red lights atop. They didn’t mark an entrance, but they still served a purpose. Sort of like “our” lighthouse.

      Lazy and confident — what a combination! I’ve known a couple of people like that, actually, and you’ve made me smile to remember them.


      1. I know that point – but not sure if that was it – it was an old one. The historical group that manages it now was so nice – they hand out CD’s for the car that tell you about all the history along the coastal roads and places to stop and explore. That CD was the best tour guide we ever got – really outstanding.
        Our coastal markings have really changed. Always worried about the giant moving ones in the channel – such a chicken about tankers and barges.
        …there are a few of those people around….remember them sitting on all the old front porches? Those red dirt road days did have something to offer.

  19. Linda, enjoyed the sharing of this poem. I’m sorry but i’ve fallen behind in my blog reading this summer, and what a summer it has been! Again this week we’ve had 3 mild mornings, and I’m just loving it. Although fishermen are complaining that the speckled trout catches are way down from last year, but i say, heck we can’t have it all. Thought of you as i snapped photos out of the plane window as we touched down in houston on the way from little Rock. please excuse lack of some caps as my left-shift key has gone wonky on me! hope your summer has been a great one! Bayou Woman

    1. Good to see you surface, BW. I figured you were out on the trout circuit — and who knows what else. Little Rock, clearly. It’s hard for me to believe we’re halfway through August without any (shhhhhh….) “seasonal scare”, but I’m hoping things stay quiet.

      With the figs gone, I’m awash in peaches. There’s a farm up by Palestine that comes down here to sell, and their peaches are out of this world. Fredericksburg likes to brag about theirs, but east Texas peaches are the best. I’m still messing with cobbler recipes, and have decided that life in a test kitchen wouldn’t be too bad. It’s funny – the last one I tried (after yours, which I thought was perfect) is even closer to what Mom and Grandma used to make. This will tickle you — I found it in Mom’s 1953 Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. Probably explains why the one I made this week tastes just like Mom’s.

      I came over and peeked, and saw you’ve been doing some serious writing, too. I had a piece published in the August issue of a boating and cruising magazine called “Telltales” that’s focused on the Texas Coast. It’s fun, isn’t it? I thought about you when I was listening to our outdoor show this morning. I still haven’t listened to the show from over there, and I need to do it. It would be a good thing to do on a hot afternoon.


  20. Linda,
    She says it perfectly, doesn’t she. Just right. When I was much younger, I used to go down and dangle my feet over the end of the pier and watch the sun drop. Sweet memory.

    1. She does have a way with words, doesn’t she? I love the thought of little Bella Rum down at the dock, watching the sunset. I confess — while I moan and groan about the hot time of the year, I rather enjoy heading back about 5, and working until sunset. It’s peaceful, no one’s around but the birds, and sometimes there’s even a little breeze. I’ve taken part in some of the sunset “rituals” in my time, like watching it set from Mallory Square in Key west, but a dock or a deck still is the best place.

      You have a pier anywhere close? With the weather you’ve been having, it would even be worth a little pilgrimage to indulge in sunset watching.


  21. I wonder how many people, reading that last stanza, have suddenly pulled up short, with an involuntarily sharp intake of breath, like I have just done, and reflected . . . . .
    Not guilty, I found myself not guilty. I still have eyes and and heart enough to stop and stare and wonder.

    Still, it does no harm to keep Mary Oliver handy.

    1. It was quite a turn there at the end, wasn’t it? But you’re on to something important, Friko. The point is to stimulate reflection, not to chastise. I’ve some real shortcomings, and have made some real mistakes, but I’m not always guilty of whatever the shortcoming du jour is said to be. Hooray for us, old enough, experienced and wise enough to cut ourselves some slack.


    1. Thank you so much. And thank you, too, for your lovely “And All I Ask is a Tall Ship”. There’s nothing that makes me smile more than such a boat. It reminds me of the Bay Hen, one of our loveliest little boats.

      Thanks for stopping by. You’re always welcome.


    1. I think she’s one of the best at capturing the spirit of the natural world: its variety, and beauty. She’s not afraid to be an excited six-year old, pointing to this or that and saying, “Look!”

    1. I’m glad you stopped by, Ida, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met Eric! I’ll be back on Friday to see what happens. (I do love the kitties.)

      It’s so nice to know you liked the photo. Thanks for commenting, too. You’re always welcome here!


    1. I just read this morning about the two women who already have camped outside a Best Buy, so they won’t miss out on any of the bargains to be had on Black Friday. I don’t know how they feel about power, but it’s pretty clear they’ve got flat crazy for things. I’ll stick with my lighthouse.

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