My neighbor’s house caught fire in the early hours of Monday morning. They lost nearly everything, even their shoes, they ran out in the dark in their stocking feet, grief etched in lines on their faces, weeping, sobbing lines. A day later, standing in my backyard, I see lines on pages flutter across the lines in the fence between their yard and mine. Lines from books they have read and enjoyed. The first page I picked up had lines of French words and English words, from a dictionary. I stand aupre’ (next to) the fence and read between the lines of their grief and sorrow. And on and on they flutter across in the wind…. Lines from a life lived in love, lines from a home life lost forever, except these lines that keep drifting across my fence… Aussi… (Also, Too) they will begin anew and rebuild their nest… And I look over to the far side of my yard and Spring bursts open in new lines beginning ….