I delight in your commitment to honesty and whimsy and ways through or over or out. The paths you create and curate make it easier for others (by which I mean myself, though I cannot imagine I'm the only one) to follow.

I still periodically burst into tears about how lovely the parcel you sent me was. I'm using the stitch markers on your shawl.

I miss you and I think and talk about you often; I'm sorry I'm not a better correspondent, and I'm astonished and grateful that I can lean into the knowledge that you exist, and are there; you are a silent comforting presence even when we don't talk.