I Cheerfully Refuse

by Leif Enger

Yet we were also, as Lark liked to whisper in the dark, quixotes, by which she meant not always sensible. Open to the wondrous. Curious in the manner of those lucky so far.

Did I understand it? Not by half, but when it thunders you know your chest is shaking.

“You’re a man who stops and listens. If that’s not the definition of friendship, it’s close enough for now.”

Why do this to yourself you say, and I reply Why not? As enemies go, despair has every ounce of my respect.

I finished my toast. Lark’s theory of angels was that they are us and we mostly don’t remember.