Through my recent devouring of your work I feel a kinship.
I imagine your solitary walks and quiet writerly afternoons.
You may find this evening difficult - I think I was projecting.
For here you are in the middle of a lively pre-presentation conversation.
You're introduced and then enter the stage from the audience,
dressed in simple black with a frill-less red scarf hanging from your neck.
You explain that you are waiting for friends to arrive
but begin to tell us about Percy, who ate the Bhagavad Gita
and now is the "wisest of little dogs."
The friends arrive and I am enchanted to once again hear of precious Percy.
You read of deer, of a dead fox and various birds, of trees, of a river -
so poised, so authentic, so in the moment, so impressive.
I am awestruck. When someone thanks you for your work,
you smile and say you're simply thanking me for having a good life.
And your advice to writers, I will never forget:
Keep on writing.