Starting the day with a gift of 5 lbs. of wild birdseed to Jimmy, scattering it for the birds to feed on noisily. The birdsong isn’t Metallica, but I would imagine that it is as close to heavenly as could be devised. There were no muffin-fetching dogs to scamper about, nor cacophonous, mischievous laughs to startle passersby – but there were echoes of these, fluttering in the late May breeze, above the creek, below the sky, observing us all. Memorials aren’t events; they are memories of daily life, shared moments that fade into whispers as we recall them. With love to Jimmy and the world he ineloquently slipped away from.

“If you say these words aloud, in soft awe, you may summon the times you would ask to revisit.” – X