It appears that I'm not finished relating stories of Emily Dickinson. She was a recluse but found companionship through her poetry and letters.
She penned to one friend: "It is cold tonight, but the thought of you so warm, that I sit by it as a fireside, and am never cold any more. I love to write to you--it gives my heart a holiday and sets the bells to ringing."
I love the simple beauty and purity of these words. More, I love her description of friendship.
Joy for today: reading the words of an exquisitely talented lady.