But the heart it takes to share who you are, how much you’ve suffered only to be you, that’s something incredible.
Lyra is a thousand million types of wonderful. She’s wilful. She’s fierce. She’s a firebrand. She’s on fire. She is luminescent and wild.
Something can be pause for thought, a good hearty laugh, or a chance for learning and discovery.
Sometimes, when life is busy or tough, knowing your comfort zone and residing there is good and, even more, necessary. Sometimes you need to push the reading envelope a little.
What’s still out there that you haven’t yet managed to read?
I write in the margins of books. Not just text books. Bookish books. Fiction books. Non-fiction books. Beautiful books. Books.
The balance of keeping this world separate from that one. Of making time for the putting down of words, instead of the picking up of new ones.
How did all this happen? Why are these Mirandas in such fierce competition. What can I do to avoid it all again?
So, why am I angry? I’m angry for the way that we lost him. That we had to lose him at all. What I want to say here, falls apart. I stare at this paragraph and the screen blurs. It is futile and it is anger. It is loss.
And now that the world has lost such a fine mind, a novelist, a scientist, a local, and a woman with a way with words, I can only stare numbly at the gap in my bookshelf.