In Memory of: Olivia Newton-John

"They're waiting - just there," he said, pointing to where it seemed the carnival had come to town (with its lights and rides and a jostling kind of joy). "Isn't that lovely," she replied, hand across her heart and smiling, looking on. "I didn't expect a fuss." "Big musical number and all that," he continued as she took it all in and nodded. "But then, of course ..." He pointed to a path on the other side of the gates - a winding trail edged by green, quiet and empty. "I think I might just ...," she whispered (and took a step), "start small." "Of course," he said, promising to tell the others she'd be along presently. And she was along presently, although it would take a bit longer than they'd anticipated, for she found a guitar on the path and stopped several times to sing in the peaceful quiet to whomever and whatever was listening. It was a thing she'd always done - a way she'd always been, and she was fully present in it, at ease, and radiant.