His imagination was oversized; if he could wear it on the outside of his body, he would need a size larger than his shoes. "They don't make boxes to fit ideas that big," I told him, but he didn't care. "Then the world will be my box," he answered, and walked out of the room. I watched him walk, admiring his feet and the way they gripped the earth with sureness, as though he knew without thinking that it would continue to hold him up. I was the one that was afraid of sinking into it like warm taffy. He took his stride for granted.
Happy birthday, Alex!