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Steve Boatright's avatar

My friend, after almost 60 years I see his face, hear his voice, feel his presence but his name is just beyond my memory. Together, every school day the playground would become a place of exploration, battles against aliens, desperate escape, inevitable triumph as we soared through space. Playtimes were never long enough for us, 10 year old heroes whose return to earth meant times tables and spelling tests.

I'm not sure if I've ever felt again so in tune with someone else's imagination, we lived our creation and it was as real as the bicycle racks and painted football lines that framed our shared, unique, world.

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Manuela Thames's avatar

These words are stunning: “When I think of that tree, of the private world we invented, I realize now, that what we made together was poetry—living, breathing poems filled with reality: images, conversations, birdsong, and the hum of a distant lawnmower. In their quiet power, memories become the anthology of our lives, continuously revised yet somehow preserving the essential truth of who we were and who we've become.”

What an amazing collaboration, Ann! Very, very inspiring!

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