A special someone of kindred spirit surprised me with a book in the mail. She took the time to conceal it inside bright paper, obviously appropriating one of my favorite ways to conceal a gift.

I don’t check my mail very often. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, in case you were wondering. I walked over to throw something in the communal trash. Without realizing I was doing it, I meandered over and opened my mailbox and realized that I had a surprise.

Because I am always laden with both markers and scalpel, I opened it under the clearest October sky you can imagine.

Because she is an ardent bibliophile, I knew the book would have special personal meaning just for me.

It was her inscription written inside the cover that wounded me joyfully. I reread it and suddenly seemed to have dust in my eyes, unseen particles that made them teary.

I would never be so gauche as to mention Marjay by name, or to publicly thank her for the kindness. She not only gave me a surprise, but also a little universe inside a book that she thinks I already live inside, wrapped a little like I might.

I’m certain I will love the imaginary world in this book. I’ll read it with my recently restored eyes. And probably finish it with a rejuvenated heart.