For Amy Steindler, my lovely Amy, witness and protagonist of a most magical and human transformation. This is the story she told me, as I understood and felt it.
... The young, military man was masculinely tall and imposing, like the sharply defined profile of a mountain against the morning sky.
He wept and shuddered at his father's grave in an ever expansive, devastating, seismic tremble of sadness, disbelief and loneliness...
It seemed all but inevitable that he'd fragment and topple in the grips of pain and sorrow.
She approached then, from the East, silent and pixie-like; as slight as the flight of a hummingbird that gracefully hovers...
She embraced him, whispered a few words; cradled his head on her warm, nurturing chest...
The mountain became a river, but it didn't crumble.
It flowed, instead.
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