How strange this February is.

Both my children have birthdays, and both are adults now.

It has been exactly ten years since Branko died at forty-nine.

Now Ola is gone too, almost the same age.

Last year you moved into the basement of my building, and we soon became close friends.You gave me this small booklet, A Poem A Day, that I will keep reading, one a day, as a quiet relic of your presence.

I hope you are at peace, dear friend.