Am thinking about nothing really in particular - though many things to count.

Reading Madeleine L'engles Circle Of Quiet. It is the first in her series of memoirs called the Crosswick Journals. I own them all except this one, and I am finding that this is the one I think I'd rather own than any of the rest. Not because the others are somehow less than or not comparable, but because this one is so personal, so realistic, so familiar. There is no logical flow, she jumps thoughts, she skips things and uses run on sentences - but holding and reading this book is like talking with a friend you've known forever and are just now catching up with. I have known her writing since I was 12, the library offered to buy me my own copy of Troubling A Star as it was primarily checked out on my card anyway. And in a way she has been not only the inspiration and major influence in my writing, but she has also been the writer that I most identified with in spirit. Confused and yet always willing to always find the truth; always, in every situation. I love this. Teachability is the most honest quality I have found in anyone and admire the most in everyone. I wish for more teachability in my own life more than anything and am crushed when I see it less and less.

So I am reading this book. And not just reading it, I'm barely past the Part One, I'm reveling in it, soaking in it. Grasping every bit that I can and hopefully retaining it with some sense of newness. I like that thought.

Perhaps it is simply the point I am at presently, perhaps it is that I am just finding someone to identify with, perhaps I am just being silly, but at least I am finding, or refinding a soul I can say emphatically "She knows too." about.

She knows too.

And that thought is comforting.