The grasses toss and shimmy. The horses nicker. Madame Manec says, almost whispering, Now that I think about it, child, I expect heaven is a lot like this.
Joy, love, freedom, happiness, laughter. That’s what it is. And if you just experience joy sitting there and meditating for an hour, by golly, do that.
Be that as it may, it’s all I have to work with. Clutching these faded, fading, imperfect memories to my breast, I go on writing this book with all the desperate intensity of a starving man sucking on bones.
