LAURA LYNN CARBONELL
Allow me a personal note today. It is July, which for me is also a cruel month, mingling memory with the few remains of desire.
It marks the departure of Laura, the bird who flies each year from San Francisco, perches in my soul, and sings sweet tunes that cheer my tired brain. Though I know the journey demands an effort, she unfailingly brings us joy and leaves us smiling.
Now she returns to her school, to the pupils she loves, and to the hard work of being an example worth following.
Godspeed, Laura. We shall be waiting for your yearly flight back, whose warmth lingers long after your wings have disappeared from sight.
Thank you!
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