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very happy, because she was lonely,” she said. “You were lucky to be such a good friend for her.”
34. Wordlessly, I took the tin to my room and set it on my bed. Then, hurrying downstairs, I burst through the front door and ran to the woods.
35. I wandered for a long time, until my eyes had dried and I could see clearly again. It was spring — almost exactly a year since I’d met the old woman in Bear Wood. I looked around me and realized how much I now knew. About birds, insects, plants and trees, thanks to her help. And then I remembered that back in my bedroom I had a tin of the best shortbread in the world, and I should go and eat it like I always did on weekends at Mrs. Robertson-Glasgow’s cottage.
36. In time, that old round tin filled up with dried leaves, fossils and bits of colorful stone, and countless other odds and ends. I still have it.
37. But I have much more, the legacy of that long-ago encounter in Bear Wood. It is a wisdom tutored by nature itself, about the seen and the unseen, about things that change and things that are changeless, and about the fact that no matter how seemingly different two souls may be, they possess the potential for that most precious, rare thing — an enduring and rewarding friendship.
;.
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