In 1988, I wrote my friend Jewel a letter filled with poetry --- mostly my own. Twenty years later, she mailed it back to me because I did not have a copy of some of my own writing. When I learned she had died, I remembered that that envelope was in a pile of papers in my living room and dreaded finding it. It found its way to me again today, and I read these words of another in my hand, and could see my friend in them --- coltish, cool and wild at heart.