In All The World There Is Not

I Shall Weave A Suit Of Leaves. At Once. With Acorns For Buttons.

She Walked Quickly Around Her One-room Apartment. After More Than Four Years In This One Home She Knew All Its Possibilities, How It Could Put On A Sham Appearance Of Warmth And Welcome When She Needed A Place To Hide In, How It Stood Over Her In The Night When She Woke Suddenly, How It Could Relax Itself Into A Disagreeable Unmade, Badly-put-together State, Mornings Like This, Anxious To Drive Her Out And Go Back To Sleep.

God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

Fear," The Doctor Said, "is The Relinquishment Of Logic, The Willing Relinquishing Of Reasonable Patterns. We Yield To It Or We Fight It, But We Cannot Meet It Halfway.

All Our Land Was Enriched With My Treasures Buried In It, Thickly Inhabited Just Below The Surface With My Marbles And My Teeth And My Colored Stones, All Perhaps Turned To Jewels By Now, Held Together Under The Ground In A Powerful Taut Web Which Never Loosened, But Held Fast To Guard Us.