“Nan! I woke up from a dream where I was looking at the postcard you sent me, and the subject was missing.”
Her grandmother nodded. She often did now.
She knew she understood. They had standing appointments to meet in the narrowing corridors of her mind’s labyrinth. Because, just when it seemed they couldn’t get narrower, they would suddenly open to cavernous, multi faceted rooms of beauty, with the aura of home she had never known, and she wanted to be in there with her. It was captivating.
She had challenged her once to find the heart of the story. Especially in the biggest “rooms” or, heaven forbid, if she found herself in rooms of smoke and mirrors.
She looked at her with those eyes. From her childhood.