The air over and around our little swale of California coastline has been unstable and disturbed. A snitty wind, an occasional spit of drizzle. It has matched my mood, which swooned last night when I picked up the newspaper at 1:00am, just to still my jittery thoughts and get some sleep.

“The newspaper?” you ask, incredulously. Weird, I know. I can’t remember the last time I picked up a paper for bedtime reading, instead of, say, poetry or a good novel. I wonder if God led to me pick up the press so I would find what I did.

I guess it would be good advice to say the obituaries are best perused in high daylight, because no one would prefer solitude and the small dark hours to learn that one of his friends is dead.

Over the weekend, I’ll write and share something about my old friend; his style, his kindness, his unique and interesting history. He was an acrobat, a dancer, a soldier, a friend. His name was George.