Brian King, friend and fellow writer, is dead at 25. The last two and a half of those years he lived out in the open -- well, as openly as he could, the global pandemic raging all around.
I stood in as Sherpa the day we exfiltrated Brian from Alabama. The weather was dark and harrowing; a deluge of rain nearly forced us to stop.
Then suddenly, this moment, glimpse of the Sublime:
Et lux aeterna . . .