A place.

Of memories, of hopes, of dreams, of prayers: a place.

Started an early draft of stories and ideas in December for a new book. Returning to the place in July. Hearing Anna Ruby Falls provide percussion. Seeing the scenery, taking the steps, enjoying the noise.

Comparing winter to summer. Recalling fall and spring.

A place.

Distinguishing the release of initial sentences and paragraphs to a book ready to be held by hands on October 1. A book about books. A book about the places each book met me and took me. A book about how pages of the past guided my walks toward this day, this summer, this heat, this rain, this person I have become.

The water continues hurrying down at Anna Ruby Falls. Her two falls in one place—like life, when disappointments and wounds flood with healing and hope.

I stroll on a sidewalk of memories, hearing my steps.

I write in a room of solitude, recalling initial paragraphs.

I stare at Anna Ruby Falls, pondering why this place is the wardrobe I chose to start writing my twelfth book.

I rest, I remember, I read, I pray.

Continuity. Movement. Processing. Change.

A place.

Of tears and scars. Of meals and steps. Of remembering what was handed down to me. Of writing what I hope to hand down to others.

Places reveal. They remind. They alarm. They plot. They trigger.

Places smile. They nod. They invite. They sing. They soothe.

This place has done all of those for me. This place continues doing all of those for me.

When I needed them then.

As I’m needing them now.

A place to begin writing a book about books. A place to read a book about what the books did, and continue doing.

Where is your place, your Anna Ruby Falls? What is the story you are handing down?