The ceiling fan spins heat out into cool webs. I blur my eyes to try and see how it may be for her.

    "What are you thinking about?" I ask, as she's staring into space.
  "Do you daydream?"
  "No. I think about nothing."

Brain struggles with its shrinking world. At 94, we can't anticipate the extraordinary mind, because when its walls are forced to reveal what they hide, even, if not especially, if what they hide is a certain emptiness, the capacity of the space to house is frustrated and, furthermore, it always comes from a funny place that puts things together in a funny kind of way, each moment is carefully stepped, each breath is practice in letting go.


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