“She did not know I followed her on her daily path – hunting, always hunting for my face – searching behind each strong Sequoia unyielding to the times, or pressed in moldering tomes stored on Granddad’s shelves – homilies, translations, concordances, The Book of Common Prayer. My steps matched hers in shadow; when she turned to see they disappeared. I felt her catch her breath, listening to vibrations of my voice break through cacophonies from pulpits. I wept when I … Read on…