So what if instead of a post there is mostly silence?
A photograph and silence, and just a few words only, to go with them.
A few days ago I spoon-fed my grandfather soup with a teaspoon.
It was a wonderful experience.
And I hope that perhaps one day my grandson will spoon-fed me as well.
What more can one ask for?
He cannot speak, though he mumbled my name.
Other than that, he sleeps like a log,
Drifting between semi-consciousness and a comatose state.
“It’s night,” he mumbled.
He cannot open his eyes.
After a certain age, people become like old babies, I guess,
Some of them at least;
They want to return to the womb, the womb of the Earth.
Like the Russian greats above:
Quite dead for a century, yet still alive,
Our blogs could outlast us – they are not subject to decay.
Isn’t that an uneasy thought?