September 6th, 2008. The first anniversary of my mother's death. It is a stormy, rainy, blustery night, right out of the opening of A Wrinkle in Time. I have been out to dinner with friends, we have raised a glass to her memory, and now I'm sitting in Crosswicks, reading. Around 9:30 I realize I have been hearing a strange noise, like a siren - what is it? I go into the kitchen - it's louder. I stick my head out the door - louder still. I finally realize that all the alarms at the Cottage have gone off - an alarm system that I deactivated a few years before. What should I do? Should I call someone? Is it too late? I look at the clock - it's 9:30, right around the time she died. "Okay, Mother," I yell to the wind, "I hear you." The alarms turn off.
Wild nights were her glory.