He Didn't Remember, He Didn't Worry, He

A Very Long Time Ago, Grandmother Had Wanted To Tell About All The Things They Did, But No One Had Bothered To Ask. And Now She Had Lost The Urge.

One Must Use The Night.

It's A Funny Thing About Bogs. You Can Fill Them With Rocks And Sand And Old Logs And Make A Little Fenced-in Yard On Top With A Woodpile And Chopping Block - But Bogs Go Right On Behaving Like Bogs. Early In The Spring They Breathe Ice And Make Their Own Mist, In Remembrance Of The Time When They Had Black Water And Their Own Sedge Blossoming Untouched.

For A While She Considered Being Ill, But She Changed Her Mind.

He Didn't Remember, He Didn't Worry, He Just Was.