These entries, however poetic, abstract, direct, or imaginal they may be, also reflect my understanding of the science of the day. And that understanding, as extensive as it is, is really quite limited. It’s also full of comfortable assumptions, gaps, fictions, and inaccuracies. It is imaginal, abstract, direct, and poetic, like the interwoven fibers of a beloved old coat. Many years ago, my parents gave me a simple but beautiful black wool coat. There was a magic about it. From the moment I put it on, I felt lucky. I wore it during several winters, on the coldest days, for it was heavy and desirous of crystalline air and frost and snow. It was a living thing. So it remains. Still in fine condition, it hangs in the little closet by our front door. It’s too big for me now. A week or two ago, I had the idea of asking our youngest son if he might like to have it. He’s thirty-one — a little older, or maybe a little younger, than I was when it was new. Black looks good on him. I think the coat would too, unless for him there is some strange memory attached, or other reason that having it would make it feel like a burden. Or maybe knowing and adding to its history would please him. Ultimately, though, I think it’s probably all up to the coat.
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