Our lives were full of bohemian friends with sketchbooks and cigarettes, orchestras, poetry, philosophy and science. A ton of leather cover books. We would get drunk on joie de vivre… and many a bottle of red wine.
The more I learn about her mind and heart, the more I feel like Sarah Slean is a long lost sister I haven’t seen since 18th-century Paris (I was busy elsewhere during the eighteen-hundreds, it seems).
People who were born to be heard have a magnetic quality that makes strangers want to cling to them. They’re built that way – they have to be. It is their job to inspire others, to help them elevate themselves. (Who doesn’t owe breakthroughs of self-improvement to something said in an interview, novel or song?)
But Sarah echoes.
Not just the message or the sound – but the places. The dust trail falling from her shoes is made of very familiar sand.
We carry in our pockets the same unquenchable curiosity (ah!, the academic spirit!), the same faith in the great wisdom of the universe – one we keep trying to grasp – and are still in awe with the world and with life.
I think I lost her in a crowded ballroom.
So I kept my water-blue eyes and the love for Red in hopes of recollection.