The wife smiled her smile, said she was glad to meet Quinn as though she meant it, and then extended her hand to him. He shook it, feeling the uncanny slenderness of her bones, and asked if her name was Norwegian.
‘Not many people know that,’ she said.
'Do you come from Norway?’
'Indirectly,’ she said. 'By way of Northfield, Minnesota.’ And then she laughed her laugh, and Quinn felt a little more of himself collapse.
“The sun may shine on these lines, may cast a shadow upon them, or may surrender them to he solver moon.”
Throwback to this sidewalk because this morning @hannahizgross and I planned a day to show her the magic of Northfield in the form of glorious coffee shops, the home of my yoga training, and sidewalk poetry everywhere. (Jazzed about Minnesota. Obviously. Always.) (at Northfield, Minnesota)