And when the wind was in the southShe’d say, “I smell the sea!”She changed. The white and gold grew dullAs when a soft flame diesAnd yet she kept until the lastThe sea-shine in her eyes.
From “Cerelle,” a ballad by Margaret Bell Houson, 1929
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My first thought when I got up this morning was: I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let a friend die.
Just a few months ago, Lindy Elizondo and I were gazing out over the Grand Canyon. We were on the proverbial “trip of a lifetime,” a 30-day rail pass from her New York and from my Kansas City to points west.