1 year ago


Selected Writings & Artwork by Harriett Copeland Lillard

Me and Virginia Woolf

Me and Virginia Woolf for all of us, without clinging to a past that was soon to outlive its time. I touched the long smooth curve of the old grand piano and heard Beethoven’s haunting sadness and Bach’s baroque intricacies and saw a little girl with pigtails sitting there, making music that seemed almost too big for her. I saw a photograph of a beautiful young woman, her face full of light, caught in a second of time magically suspended in a grand jeté, and I was filled with wonder at the perfection and joy of it. I turned through a collection of old newspaper clippings and heard once again the roar of the crowd as a tall young man rolled out to make the impossible catch. I turned through the “book” of hand-written poems, full of the wit and feeling of the youngest, lovingly bound in blue construction paper. Yes, it had all been worthwhile. But now it was time to go. At the back door with my hand on the doorknob I turned back to look at my life, and I felt a soft sadness for this house that had held our lives for so long, not harsh or bitter, but full of tender memories. In leaving it, I had never loved it more. ˜ 83 Opposite, Harriett's Aunt Mary

84 Thoughts on Being a Lady