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Prelude

A dedication — and the meaning beneath the dispatch

For Mariana —

A coffee that nearly didn't survive the trip. A half-second where we both looked up. Funny, what a near-miss can open —
a door the week before I left, and through it a sense of place I'd half forgotten, and a light.

A war in your story, a country building out of the ruins, and still that light —
the rarest thing I've seen in a long while.

I cross through the door now. The light that guided me here guides the road east — and I carry some of it with me.

What follows is the work — and it begins in that light.