Going to the library to get the books I order is always a little like Christmas morning. There's such an excitement on the way there. This bundle of books had some work items, a book on poetry I'd been waiting almost six months for- you wouldn't think there'd be a waitlist for poetry, would you -  and some Halloween decorating idea books.

After getting my books, I got sidetracked by dinner, and helping Solomon with his homework and finally when everyone was asleep and the house was quiet but for the chugging sound of the dishwasher, I sat on the couch and cracked open the poetry book. It fell open to a small pink scrap of paper marking these words:

...Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.

(Excerpted from the poem Sometimes by Sheenagh Pugh.)

I've been having a rough couple of days.  Something about the impending winter, the colder weather, the economy, I could go on...

I looked closer at the pink paper, a torn scrap from a magazine. On the bottom edge was the small lower-case white m. A tiny letter heaven-sent that smiled right at me.