If I might have a moment of personal privilege, please. A moment to speak of the week at Sandhill in terms that don’t include a description of how the colors of the fallen leaves change when they are flattened by the rain or how the wind kicks up those leaves and slaps them against the house and the car and the garbage can like window decals. A moment to speak of a pain so sharp and a hurt so deep that the best metaphor in the world cannot reach it.