Recently, a friend died. He was only 63. He was a great guy, a decent, kind, capable man. I wrote something about him and published it here. It made me think of an entire life, of his too-short life. And the finality of that moment when he was no longer here. The profundity of it, the inevitability of it. How can you not think of your own mortality when that happens?
Your fierce energy will be whirling forever around all of us who know you and read you. Doubt it not.
I think of you often when I'm walking in Ft. Tryon Park. But, yeah. You've expressed this eerie knowledge we all feel so well, Richard.