If indeed family is "that one is married, in one sense, to moments, to melodies, to spaces of possibility, to memory, to the sound of words forming in the mouth, to the purity of a age, or...to the beauty of any insignificant discarded thing," then I have now joined A Convergence of Birds in purest kinship. The beginnings of the beginnings of how the book came to begin, the middles of the middles of the aggregation of it all, the ending, which has not truly ended for me, have added to each other to form such beauty and goodness I can hardly hold on to it all. I carried this book with me for days, weeks, and I cannot imagine not carrying it with me in some fashion for the rest of my being, just as I do the picture of my mother in my wallet, the scent of my sister's discarded perfume. I have liked birds for long, and I will love them for longer. Thank you Joseph Cornell, Jonathan Safran Foer, and my family, the boxes and birds.