On the road to Lafayette, LA, my mentor and friend, Jeanne Leiby lost her life five years ago today. Sadness, pain, loss and a complete failure to comprehend the gaping hole she left in this world are some of the thoughts churning about my head on this spring morning in Carpinteria, the sun rising red in the eastern sky behind the foothills. I’ll never know her final thoughts, nor her plans for her writing, or life going forward as she drove the two-lane highway in her convertible. We are not privy to the thoughts of others, given only the sometimes difficult charge of marshaling our own ideas and contemplations. Her book is on the shelf and I’ll read from it again today, as I always do on this dark day. “Viking Burial.” No more perfect a piece of flash fiction is more appropriate. Later, I’ll raise a glass of Writer’s Tears to her memory and get on with the living of life and the mourning of those gone too soon.