Today is the first anniversary of the death of a very good friend, Jack.
So, the keeper, her friends and two of Jack's sons had a very soggy celebration at his place of rest tonight. The dark came quickly and the rain quicker.
There was music. There were spirits. There was rain.
There was poetry. There were flowers. There was more rain.
There were stories, many stories. There was rain. There was talk about placing a permanent tent over the grave so friends and family could visit and celebrate all year round.
And dear Jack lives on in his family, his work, and in our hearts.
The keeper came home dripping wet, her shoes, her hair, her clothes were wringing wet.
She said that this was Montmartre in August or that night in Puebla all over again without the heat.
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