Requiescat in pace to the marvelous non-fiction editor, writer, and mentor Judith Kitchen
Here is a mystery: what do the spent days do with themselves? How do they breathe in the face of forgetfulness? They have names, and faces. They can't just be erased. Do you hear that? You should try to hold on. I want you to hold on, if only for my sake. So my days, too, will inflate your lungs. Will fill them with this crisp autumn air that I can breathe at will, at the will of my recollection.
- Judith Kitchen, The Circus Train