We step into the cool Colorado dusk, the day’s heat still packed in earth. Sunset tarries in tangerine swathes reflecting off stained glass at the apartment’s shining apex. It has become our nightly ritual– awaiting the first awakeners to rouse and bolt from the converted convent’s attic for their nocturnal insect hunt…

I never broke my valiant coffee-fast the whole time you lived in my belly. But I’d sometimes sneak a mug of hot homemade chai before my late-afternoon class in contemplative Judaism. Who could resist the aromatic spices wafting from Naropa’s steamy kitchen at the snowy foothills? As the peppery clove and cinnamon warmed my insides, the black tea awakened you for a swim. My hands followed your whole-body shifts, your agile balletic moves.