I'm sick in bed with the flu.

I'm remembering last year when I stayed home from school sick one day, and Micah came to visit me. He came into my room and plopped down at the side of my bed, and then with a little smirk pulled out a tub of Ben&Jerry's ice cream. I laughed and we sat there and ate it together. Surprisingly it worked, because I really did feel better after his little visit.

This morning in bed, I pretended that Micah was sitting next to me.
The fever still persisted, but I did feel a little better. (Maybe I should be eating some ice cream too?)

At least being sick has given me some time to relax and think...
I pulled out a book of poetry by Wendell Berry and paged through it for awhile...

-----
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops' striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of Heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing
this happiness, this rain. Sometimes
here we are there, and there is no death.

-Wendell Berry