Walking is different now – my hips in some new relation to their sockets, my back and belly negotiating an imperfect balance. Perhaps that’s why I let my feet do the navigating… my mind tuned to a different channel, or maybe a new dial altogether. Right, and left, and left again, then right along a road flanked by giant sycamores, down to the river now frozen and covered in a downy pillow of snow. There, in a deep and gentle bend where many a summer afternoon would find us you took your first waters. I knew you were already with us then before any test would make it certain. Nonotuck: the place in the midst of the river. That’s where you are, like the waters running under that icy surface. There, just beyond the eye but only for a while longer.
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