Seamus Heaney died on Friday. A poet who captured my heart long ago when I was just a wee girl too frightened to trust my own words. Perhaps I learned to love his verse because we held Belfast in common? But the streets he strode upon were a lifetimes away from the streets I trod, with only the “wideness of his language” to implant his thoughts in my heart. While others will point to his Nobel Prize, Digging, The North, or September 1969 to herald him as a laureate, for me it will be a bag of spuds waiting to be peeled that will bring his words to mind. Rest well dear Seamus. Thank-you for teaching me to write my own words upon the page and trust that they too had a wideness about them! Shalom.