Sunday night I found a framed pastel portrait I had been looking for for several months. My brother John did it in high school, from a photo in National Geographic, if I remember correctly.
Cleaning the glass, I noticed something behind the pastel. I took off the back panel and found a painting, a watercolor, stapled to the panel.
I assume it too is by John.
If that’s the case, then nearly fifty years ago John was painting a barbed-wire fence. And now, fifty years later, I’m co-authoring a book about barbed wire.
It feels like a gift from beyond the grave.