For Diane.


I wrote something tonight, a little tribute to you. It goes:

What is space, or time, but chalked lines taught to us in our childhoods? Because over all the hours and footsteps that have separated us, you are ever near to me, ever accessible, ever Diane-like, ever the same. And that particular sameness is all one needs to be reminded that life is texture and angles and creativeness tempered by practicality. You remind me of doll-boxes: delightful in their whole form, ever more delightful when opened. I thank the lovely doll-boxes and the Dianes of the world for all the little truths and reminders that comfort a nervous soul: jobs are JOBS, kids are worth the work, books transplant us…and mostly, that we are never as far away from one another as we’d at first believe.

Thank you.