Run to it, Kitty, run, run. That would be your Edinburgh, with its roofless chapel where I lay down to sleep as the angels watched me through the night. You are there for Spence, on his steps in sunlight, as he handles his little problems one by one. Water us, darling, water us as you do your flowers for color to fill your life. And keep us from dying before we wake. Push us gently among the crowd and hear our laughter as it brings you joy you once knew, when the streets seemed smoother, your steps felt steadier, men’s hands appeared helpful, and your dreams opened you to love.