Read to me...

Simon loved to be read to. In the evenings by the fire, when I read aloud to the Main Muse, he would lie down on my foot, and stay there, chin on paw, ears erect, for as long as I would sit and read.

Any book would do. Simon wasn't into rhetoric. Books for him were all about the voice. He fixated on human speech they way I fixate on the music of a tumbling creek, or on any sound that speaks of presence and continuance.


  1. Simon. What a handsome boy. He is still listening I believe.

  2. Well, Marianne, I am still reading, at any rate.


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