West Village green space
On this day of remembrance, 9/11, I have my own private memory of my own sacred space: of being with my friend, Frankie, in the cool autumn twilight in Abingdon Square, West Village, on our last outing together. I had signed her out of the nursing home, and we sat on a park bench across the street, watching a multitude of dogs go by. "I love this light," she said.
I am honored to have my essay on this sacred space, "Reading to Frankie in a Sacred Space," in the American Public Medias blog, "On Being with Krista Tippett." (September 2012)