Three times now the moon has shown her face: a season has passed.
I have a picture. I have zoomed in until her blurry profile fills the screen. I have wanted her to be there.
The weight of her absence fills my chest with stones.
And I found this that she wrote to her own mother:
How many months later ... how sad I have been at every memory ... oh, so wonderful they are and how painful for me because of the heartache of missing you far beyond any measure ...
yet ... I am so overwhelmed with gratitude here in the camp swing where
we shared so much.
I could spend days -- seasons -- here at camp, breathing in the awesome manifestations of a glorious universe -- moment to moment -- changing yet not ... So, I'm afraid to let go of my sadness, not of you. You are free in every way I could imagine.
In every way. And having had just the tiniest sliver-glimpse of that unbounded freedom, I know it to be true.
*(And so cute with her ears sticking out. Her elf ears? my sister asked. I laughed. And, I swear to the goodness that is God, the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. I'm sure I shrieked.)