He was Bill Weasley in every sense of the way

[hamster8 at hotmail.com]

Yael, you of all people, I am most worried about at this time.  I 
want to thank you for your post on Paradise.  I've been stunned 
beyond belief the last few days.  I don't want to watch the TV 
anymore, and I want to forget the pictures, and I cannot.  This has 
affected us all in ways we simply cannot begin to imagine.  My 
thoughts are with your cousin at this time.  I'm pleased to be able 
to report that my friend's Father, who is also Jewish, has reported 
in safe and well.  He was it work with Reuters, and although he 
cannot get home to his family, he's unharmed.  That's a weight off my 
mind.

I am not a religious person, at all.  But I prayed last night ... and 
I will do tonight as well.

For the benefit of those of you not on HP_Paradise, I found an old 
poem written on a postcard I bought in Belgium today.  It was written 
in 1915, at the height of the First World War.  I was sorting through 
my postcard collection (have over 500 at this point), and the midday 
news was on, and ... guess what, they were looping that same footage, 
endlessly, endlessly.  The poem may need updating, but I think it's 
apt, and I reproduce it here.

In Flanders' fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
that mark our place: and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead.  Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders' fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high,
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies
Grow in Flanders' fields.

Al


"The world's changed so radically ... we're all running to catch up."
-Alan Grant, Jurassic Park