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One of my favorite authors died this week. Anne McCaffrey. The obits mentioned her first story. I knew I had read it long ago. As I thought of her passing I wanted to read it again. I knew I had the book it was in.
I looked on the shelves of my library. I couldn't find it. It had been misplaced.
In order to see into the bottom shelf I had to get down on the floor and slide on my belly like a seal seeking the water at the edge of an ice flow. Because of my weight and profound elderliness, this was quite a strenuous activity.
I managed to rise and flop into my chair. I caught my breath and bearings. I decided to buy the ebook. None were available. By chance my journeys online brought me to the story posted somewhere by someone for some reason or other.
The Ship Who Sang. 1969. It is not a long read.
As I thought of the passing of Anne McCaffrey I wanted to read her first story.
I read it. And then I wept.