The
losses mount.
First she forgets where she put her keys, then where
she parked her car, then she forgets that not all keys open all
doors. Next she forgets her children, not remembering where she put
them, where she parked them, what they might be for. Last she forgets the words, the sentences, the chains which bind meaning together. But the meaning, the meaning she remembers. It is in her eyes.
We sit by the window when a hare leaps into the picture the window frames. It stops, cranes its head, turns its long ears toward us, and looks at us with meaning in its eyes.
She points at the hare, smiles, turns toward me and whispers: "Hare!"
We hold hands.
This we still have.