MARY WILKINSON, I AM HERE!

I am here, in New York, not the city that everyone hears when they hear ‘New York’, but the gorgeous rolling land of lakes in the middle.

And kindred souls we are, indeed, I’ve thought this so often reading about your cakes and your trees and your weather and your small dog. I make cakes and commune with trees in the wind and walk with my dogs, as well. And I’ve thought of you, so far away and with an ocean view and imagined that we would have things to say over tea, over stew, over wine.

You are my favorite type of writer, one who distills the tiny moments of the everyday into little jewels that can be revisited in the quiet times, or the turbulent times. When needed. Gems that remind us that this is all. This is it, pay attention, enjoy, rejoice.

So glad to hear from you. I’d like to talk sometime.

And I’d love to place this response carefully in its own box on my profile page, but perhaps I’ve already said too much about that.