Every once in awhile, something comes along that just pierces through to long-dusty dreams, and I remember, clearly, the bloom and light of youth.
I remember you sitting there in that school bus seat, sun playing with your hair, eyes shy, vulnerable, and behind a sheet of glass put there by my young and fearful mind. You were a vision, not just of beauty but of Hope itself, one I could only gaze at with sad and secret longing.
You live now in Montana, last I heard, and I in Berkeley. That young man and woman are long and mercifully gone; but every once in awhile, when autumn sun hits a leaf just right, or diesel comes with a flash of yellow, I think of you, and remember, and know that young woman and man are purged of all sorrow and fear in the heaven of my memory.