I could feel it containing the cough.
Later that night, after teaching, procrastinating, and trying to heal even more, the mailman walked up the driveway with the day's packages. I forgot I pre-ordered Jason Reynold's Ain't Burned All the Bright, with artwork by Jason Douglas Griffin. Three breaths. 2020. It is an experience...one similarly felt when I read David Small's memoir, Stitches, Douglas Coupland's Life After God, and the journals of Dan Eldon. When art and language move as one, all is well in the world.
Artists.
Writers.
Stunning.
I stopped everything to read the book. With an Early hug from Jessie, and then the gift of Jason Reynod's one-of-a-kind mind, hope has been restored.
We are the story makers, and making meaning comes from the randomness of a day. Coughing. Coughing. Coughing. So sick of being sick, and trying to find a way beyond 2020, which led to 2021, which led to this year as it already has been. Coughing.
A butterfly. A leaf.
Hope.
Reynolds.
That soup. The kindness. That writing. The warmth.
Books are family, and the National Writing Project network remains passionate about words. It's Thursday morning, and my mind has found a way to crawl from underneath the horizon. Ain't Burned all the Bright...a wish for the world.
Yes, Mr Wonka..."So shines a good deed in a weary world."
Love you, Jessie. More applause for you, Jason. Thank you.