A World Lost

My Christmas present to you all is a link to +seraphimsigrist's journal, in which he posts the last page of the Wendell Berry novella, the title of which is the subject of this entry. The story is about a small boy in Kentucy farm country coming to terms (as they say) with the murder of his uncle, whom he loved dearly, but whose character (as they say) left something to be desired, and led in some way to his death. You can read the rest of +Seraphim's entry too, which also contains a rather feeble joke of mine, and get a sense of that rather unique individual, but the few words of Berry's are what I most want my friends to read, and that rather urgently, as something to ponder not only at Christmas, but at other times when we are called to reflect seriously about life. I think he scanned the page because he feels the same way, so it's not just my eccentricity.

http://seraphimsigrist.livejournal.com/470153.html

And if I don't get on LJ again for a while, a merry Christmas to you and yours and to all who observe the Gregorian calendar.