On Sara Fuller

At first she was a friendly face, existing in a liminal time, just outside of everyone else’s clock. I’m not sure when she arrived, but it was sudden, with a splatter of toner ink on my purse and profuse apologies. (Personally, I thought it made the thing look cool and grungy.) Once she did show up, however, it was as if she had always been around, a half hour’s conversation I could sometimes look forward to at the end of the day.

She was a peaceful warrior, ready to improve the world with patience and understanding, no matter how small an action it took. She shared what she had with a smile and an open hand of giving to those in need. Hers were bright eyes, full of nebulae and galaxies and planets. The greatest gift she gave to me was the chance to look through a powerful telescope at the distant cosmos, the home of her heart. To her, I think, there under an overturned bowl of stars, it wasn’t a gift at all. Just an understanding that of course she would share this beauty with me.

Of course.

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