Article voiceover
When I arrived, a man and woman standing there were pointing at the shadows where they saw a deer half-hidden in the trees. I looked but couldn’t see so smiled and carried on with my run down the paved trail along the river, listening to music, my ears full of the sound, my eyes full of the sky, so much so the birds and colors began to cry. Earlier, in the garage, where I was clearing out my father’s things, I’d found a piece of paper, some plans for a jewelry box he’d made for you. And on the back, addressed, it seemed, to me: “I hear you”—in his handwriting as if written just then to let me know and feel and see.
