From her life, a story grows. The roots are in every choice she’s ever made. The branches are in the things she said. The leaves are her words, each one delivered slowly and with care. She came into my life and went I know not where. When I met this woman, she asked me what I loved. She ignored the useless talk of what I do and where I come from. We walked down the street together, opening our mail. Meaningless messages and empty words, some bills. She said she would take the long way to work, because that allowed her more time to ponder and wander. I wanted to follow her, but I didn’t dare. …

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