Being In The Dark From Sentence To

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Works-in-progress.

The Horror Of Being Caged Has Lost Its Thrill.

Literature Takes A Habit Of Mind That Has Disappeared. It Requires Silence, Some Form Of Isolation, And Sustained Concentration In The Presence Of An Enigmatic Thing.

When I Was A Child... I Was Watching A Snowstorm, And Hopefully Asked, 'momma, Do We Believe In Winter?'

There Were Many Hours When I Never Quite Know How I'd Gotten There Or Why I Stayed.