I was sitting here in the hockey rink, watching my daughter gliding and cutting this way and that, working to carve out possibilities in her life and began reading your words.
They took me outside where it’s almost warm but the north wind still reminds me it’s not. I kept reading. Moved to my car, leaning on the hood with parents and kids and hockey bags and last minute instructions and I don’t look up.
Your words. It’s all I want. To know this girl and her story and where she went and what she did. To know how her mother loved her Peter Pan.
I love your writing.