There are details to paint, shoes to enlarge—can’t have you have small feet, can I?—and butterflies to imagine. I want to turn your wife into a butterfly. But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves and see what happens today.

I tried to retrace my path through the forest, but I couldn’t make out where my foot fell before I heard the old lady say her prayers. Listening to the Ghosteen album helped. I let melodies and words circle around and within me until I remembered that there is nothing wrong in loving those we can neither understand nor protect. Then, I painted you sleeping, as if in a dream. With a tear on your cheek, giggling and laughing to yourself, you remained unaware of the deer bending over your little life in the dancing light between the trees, too busy talking to spirits and to butterflies.

Then I added Warren a little further to the right, deep in the forest near the fireflies. He is playing his violin for you, for me, and for everyone who needs to hear:

I am here Beside you Look for me In the sun I am beside you I am within In the sunshine In the sun

Give it time, Nick. Give it time, Susie. Give it time, Warren. Give it time, Cordula. Give it time, everyone. Peace will come.

Love

Cordula