The Lovely Ms. Noonan

During my early twenties I had a love-affair with the prose of Peggy Noonan. I read every word she wrote, losing myself in the simplistic beauty of her words. That time has passed for reasons perhaps unconsidered.

Still, in times of tragedy and human suffering, I always, sometimes unknowingly, find myself searching for her observations, like a lonely lover finding the photograph of an old flame and believing that if he stares long enough, he can for a moment bring back the safety and passion that he once had with her.

In my middle twenties, Peggy often disappoints.

This morning, she did not.