She is the gentle autumn's rain

Rosalie Wilson Everett

June 1, 1930 ~ October 5, 2011

David is fortunate to have had his grandmother in his life for three decades. I too count myself lucky to have known and loved her for one. Memories of Mammaw over the years make us smile. And laugh. She was adorably tiny. She had an infectious giggle. She had a gorgeous smile. And she loved her grandchildren with all of her being. It always touched me, the way her face lit up when she saw David. She was extremely proud of him. But, more than her love for her grandchildren, I was most affected by her overwhelming love for her husband. They were true soul mates, those two. They went everywhere together. Did everything together. For the past few years they have been apart, but now, wherever they are, I'm sure they're together again. Love like that never dies. And neither will our memories. Because they are the thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on snow, sunlight on ripened grain, and the gentle autumn's rain... 

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.

Mary Frye

It's autumn. And there is a gentle rain outside...