The best writers I’ve ever read can write about everything and nothing, with the same words. She won’t tell you what to think. Just touches you where you feel, up to her wrist in my rib cage, “it’s okay.” I don’t know how it’s done; probably with great care, hard work, lots of practice. From here, it looks like magic.
It looks like by water or wind she swishes the skirts of her soul and words ballet from there to here with a basketful of empathy.