Today I learned that Madeleine L’Engle died. I adore her books. I have all my life. One of my earliest reading memories is reading A Wrinkle in Time in the bedroom that I shared with my sister. I remember being so engrossed in the book that I didn’t want to play, eat, or even watch TV. I probably read that book at least a hundred times and as recently as a year ago. I’ve read pretty much most of what she’s written, including some of her autobiographical and religious essays, but I have to admit my favorites are still her fiction. When I was in the eighth grade, we had an assignment to write our favorite author and she wrote me back! Not a form letter, but a real honest letter, just like one my grandmother would have written me, telling me about her day and her dogs and how nice it was to hear from a young person who also liked to write. I’m still a little teary. I might be that way today.