Thank you for the music, Scott. This is how I’ll remember you, lighting up the crowd on a warm Toronto evening:
You were a christmas Poinsettia three years ago. You quickly grew spindly and grew towards the window. You survived repeated failures to water you, and yet you kept growing. You even gave us some red last year.
You had only a couple of tiny leaves yesterday, and you looked so ill. I had hoped to give you a summer in the garden, so you could die as summer faded. It didn’t happen.
Goodbye, plant. I shall remember you when I sweep up your crisp dry leaves.