Yesterday, I finished listening to The Amber Spyglass. Before that I listened to The Golden Compass and The Subtle Knife, all by Phillip Pullman. I had read all three books, but long enough ago to have forgotten much.
Here's a poem for Will and Lyra, and for me to remember now that they are gone until I read or listen them back to life.
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
(the rest of the poem is here...the roundup is here)