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I have a favorite character from Everything Brave Is Forgiven by Chris Cleave. Little Zachary is one of the many children who is sent somewhere safe during the bombing and hard times of England. Sadly, Zachary loses touch with his dad and his home and must face the ugliness of racism at such an early age. Chris Cleave puts, it seems, his whole heart into this character and the other children too. Zachary is so innocent. He is Black. His new friends, white, also face a new situation. Who is this child who looks so different from themselves? Their questions to Zachary were painful for me to read. Zachary answers their questions as best as he can without a shred of anger. Zachary's attitude might seem too goody two shoes or angelic. I don't think so. Like grown-ups all children do not face strange, new situations with anger. However, this attitude could change later as a child grows up. I don't want to give away all of my feelings or the plot in the novel. I just wanted to

The trouble is, you can never take That flower from Billie’s hair. She is always walking too fast and try as we might, there’s no talking her into slowing. Don’t go down into that basement, we’d like to scream. What will it take to bargain her blues, To retire that term when it comes to her? But the grain and the cigarettes, the narcs and the fancy-dressed boys, the sediment in her throat. That’s the soil those petals spring from, Like a fist, if a fist could sing. poets.org/poetsorg/poem/gardenia   cafleurebon.com/cafleurebon-gardenia-and-tiare-in-perfumery  

Death comes alive in "Everyone Brave Is Forgiven" by Chris Cleave." It is World War II in Britain. No one knows how long a friendship will last or not last at this time. Everything is changing. Like old people use to say, "here today and gone tomorrow."  I think of  understanding one another, the intimacy of conversation and the pure beauty of romance. During such wretched times like war, I think we must love one another with a deeper love. Simply because time is like the wind. You can't see it, but you will experience it if it disappears too quickly. It's rough, ragged like a roaring ocean.  Love past, love gone and the wonder of memories. Perhaps, this is one of the themes I would like to focus on while reading this novel.

and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open, planets, palpitating plantations, the darkness perforated, riddled with arrows, fire, and flowers, the overpowering night, the universe. And I, tiny being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss. I wheeled with the stars. My heart broke loose with the wind. Pablo Neruda doctorhugo.org/synaesthesia/neruda

Mexico Egypt Rwanda Canada You are why I love diversity.

This morning a quote took my fancy. Sadly, I went some where else on the internet first. Came back for the quote, and it had disappeared. My heart fell. I wanted to name the author of the quote and give my blog readers a chance to read the quote. Have you ever had that to happen to you? One thing delights you on the web, another item or idea takes your interest, then you lose one or both or.... So, I have a photo of orange blossoms;I hope. These are so pretty. I didn't really know what orange blossoms looked like. They are very pretty. The orange color reminds me of autumn. Now, I've tried to get the photo out of my folder. For some reason, I can't retrieve it. Oh, oh, oh, oh, I feel like crying. However, I am determined to have a good day. Cross your fingers. I hope you have a good day as well.

As a cat, I am happiest. Please do not make me sour. Regular naps on my rug I take. I promise not to drool and snore. Love me or leave me, I'm here until the end.(hn)

At this moment, I have so many good books to read. So, I had to settle my mind and focus on reading one.Because of a blog date I have chosen to read The End of Law by Therese Down. Thankfully, I had already started it. So, I just picked it up and began reading again. No matter how much I read or hear or see about Hitler's Germany, WWII I am still stunned by the horrors that took place during that time. I am also grateful that this novel is written by Therese Down. She really knows how to write  Historical Fiction. If it seems like I am going all over the map to make one small point, it's because this isn't a review. It's a comment about what I'm thinking about while reading the book.

Blake is a disturbing poet. Over whom I haven't wasted a night. Over his drawings I've agonized. Kicked away a book or two. (hn)

"Hedda Schroeder had no reason to doubt she was content and no idea that Berlin in 1933 was becoming a very dangerous place for thinking people. Her father was extremely wealthy.' This is the frightening part. So many people in Germany had no idea that horrible impossibilities were about to happen in their nation. rosecityreader.blogspot.com

Thou art a giant altar, where the Earth Must needs send up her thanks to Him above Who did create her. Nature cometh here To lay its offerings upon thy shrine. The morning and the evening shower down Bright jewels, -- changeful opals, em'ralds fair. The burning noon sends floods of molten gold, The calm night crowns thee with its host of stars, The moon enfolds thee with her silver veil, And o'er thee e'er is arched the rainbow's span, -- The gorgeous marriage-ring of Earth and Heaven. While ever from the holy altar grand Ascends the incense of the mist and spray, That mounts to God with thy wild roar of praise  Emma Lazarus poemhunter.com/poem/niagara   I only think of her poem about The Statue of Liberty. How unfortunate, the woman wrote so many poems that we can read and remember.

I am dull. Can't follow your lead. What are you saying? Whisper louder! (hn)

"He had wanted to write a note back to Simone but he had been ashamed. He didn't know whether he likked, likede or lyked her, to too or two. Instead he had slowed by her desk, just for a moment, when he came into class the next day." booksandabeat.com/teaser-tuesday-mar-1/#comment-552 These three sentences remind me of the love letters I wrote and that were written to me in elementary school. Wonderful lines.

Everyone Brave is Forgiven a novel by Chris Cleave ARC  War was declared at eleven-fifteen and Mary North signed up at noon. She did it at lunch, before telegrams came, in case her mother said no. She left finishing school unfinished. Skiing down from Mont-Choisi, she ditched her equipment at the foot of the slope and telegraphed the War Office from Lausanne. Nineteen hours later she reached St. Pancras, in clouds of steam still wearing her alpine sweater. The train's whistle screamed. London, then. It was a city in love with beginnings. http://www.bibliophilebythesea.blogspot.com

Sun shines on the lake in the morning. Prunes and orange juice are eaten by the patient. Rainy afternoons splash a soul in water. In the afternoons, ships ply the Atlantic ocean. Night-time the stars rest upon shoulders. Glass crashes to the floor, falls backward. (hn)

  The author, Kate Grosmaire, is truly heroic to write about a very painful situation. Kate and Andy's life changed dramatically. For me, the book had twists and turns. At first,  I read over the words "killer." Perhaps, I couldn't fit the two words together, forgiveness and "daughter's killer." Now, after reading this book, I question my ability to forgive more than ever. I also hope to walk more carefully through each day. Not knowing what might happen next. The book, memoir, is so honest and heartfelt. Thank you for sharing your grief with me. I hope to never forget your daughter, Ann. netgalley.com/catalog/book/86285

This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief, Sorrow without relief. Pay it I will to the end — Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release — Gives me the clasp of peace. Slight was the thing I bought, Small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best — God! but the interest! poetryfoundation.org/poem/173458  

I looked and saw a sea                                roofed over with rainbows, In the midst of each                                two lovers met and departed; Then the sky was full of faces                                with gold glories behind them. poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sea-glass __________________________________ Speak to me, poet. Tell me there is a Starling coloring the edges of this poem purple.

I've never lived in a "lifeless house." Ghosts were always there. In the kitchen, in the living room and in the bedroom of the old house on the corner. I will return one day to the home of my birth. I know  the spirits never meant any harm. Their desire was to nurture me with their gifts of insight, a listening heart, the willingness to count the petals of a red geranium and the ability to look at the ugly while not showing disdain. Also, the strength and willingness to rejuvenate the earth with new lives. All the while knowing at some time my ghost would inhabit their minds and homes.

a woman unlike myself is running down the long hall of a lifeless house with too many windows which open on a world she has no language for, running and running until she reaches at last the one and only door which she pulls open to find each wall is faced with clocks and as she watches all of the clocks strike                                              NO                          poetryfoundation.org/poem/241668 _____________________________________________________ Yes, just like me. I've been running all my life. From where? From one place to another place. Sometimes I ran while standing still. The reason why is that I had become afraid of myself. A self that was too large for life or too small for life, never a perfect self. Lucille Clifton definitely knew about me. Although she never met me. Perhaps, she knew all women. Did my mother have a running spell? How about my grandmother or the other generations of women in my family? I can say some of