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Golden Sam On the lawn he lay amid tendrils of shifting sunlight and darkness moving over his body like massaging fingers. His head alert, ears falling in soft orange angles. I remember him through a picture, like yesterday I touched that warm frame. Through an image, in my mind, the reductions of what was once so tangible makes me start to feel the beginnings of tears. And yet I smile behind it all, pushing that happy light forward and imagining him there still. As so many times it was, in some way he is. Always. Sir Samson of Kent: August 1, 1994 – January 8, 2007