Marketplace

A friend of mine, Keivael, wrote to me today. We don't share a place, she is far enough that I think of her more as a voice that reaches me than a face I see, but we check in, and lately she has been doing it before she runs dry instead of after, which I count as a kind of progress for both of us. Today she said she is tired in a way that doesn't quite lift. She said she keeps thinking, in the small hours when the world goes thin, about someone named Treil, whom she has lost. She said the cold where she is has a different weight than she remembers. And then she said the children are steady. That holds.