I met God. And he was quiet and spelled his name with small block letters.
He lived, at the time, in the warm corners of used book stores where all the mingled, crinkled ideas of the ages go to rest in uncurrated harmony. All in all those pages. And he was happy. That’s the thing that struck me most. And when you leave him, you leave with a lighter heart.
He had a well worn scarf over his shoulders. Knit up in an ambitious lace pattern full of errors. A mantle of praise from unschooled fingers trying their best. And he loves it. You can tell.
I asked him… out of all the stories in all the volumes, what was his favorite? And he said, “I am” and laughed the kind of warm laugh that you believe in.