A friend’s husband died. He was a good man. It happened over three thousand miles away so I wasn’t able to hug her, hold her hand or wipe away a tear. I started to think of my own loved ones that died too young. I needed to do something for my friend. I picked up my needles and knit all weekend.
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Up a Creek in Lower Slower Delaware 