The English lecturer was out of line. For that I owe her a tiny measure of thanks.
The perfect balance between soft and firm, slightly crumbly, a little buttery and always sweet.
We all pay for our sins somehow.
This early morning quiet / Many inches on the ground / Falling softly still, six-fifteen / Straight down, not a sound….
She died on Palm Sunday. I think that would have made her happy, as she drew her last breaths, knowing that she was going to die on a significant day on the church calendar. I held her hand all that morning. Now I hold the bean stone.
To Calgary and back, and my signature Olympic moment came in Circle, Mont.