I tried to concentrate. Oh, I tried, damnit, but could not
help snatching glances at the heaving wisp of a being that had been – until a
couple of weeks ago, following a second round of chemo – such an animated
presence in the community.
On August 29th, 2011, when hurricane Irene turned the Deerfield into a raging brown torrent; L came down the hill, weak as she was, happy just to shoot the breeze amid the rapidly growing crowd of rubberneckers.
Her appearance was bewildering: why did she look so different?
Oh, that was a wig, perched atop seemingly singed eyebrows.