Small Gifts

An unexpected package of small gifts arrived from Portland, where my older friend Betsy lived the last years of her life and died this summer. Her daughter and son-in-law sent me two lovely things: a clay book with leaf and one of Betsy's hand-blown glass objects.

When she lived in New Orleans in her small shotgun house, Betsy lined her den windows with glass -- birds and paperweights I mostly remember. The room caught late afternoon light, lending a kind of ethereal glow to a jumble of books and newspapers, stationery and cat toys.

I don't remember this slender oil lamp, in color and shape so like a flame, but I see Betsy in it. She was a flame, whose fiery spirit lit everyone. In her glass, I feel her spark still.