There Will Never Come A Time When

Your Life Feels Different On You, Once You Greet Death And Understand Your Heart's Position. You Wear Your Life Like A Garment From The Mission Bundle Sale Ever After - Lightly Because You Realize You Never Paid Nothing For It, Cherishing Because You Know You Won't Ever Come By Such A Bargain Again.

When Small Towns Find They Cannot Harm The Strangest Of Their Members, When Eccentrics Show Resilience, They Are Eventually Embraced And Even Cherished.

To Sew Is To Pray. Men Don't Understand This. They See The Whole But They Don't See The Stitches. They Don't See The Speech Of The Creator In The Work Of The Needle. We Mend. We Women Turn Things Inside Out And Set Things Right. We Salvage What We Can Of Human Garments And Piece The Rest Into Blankets. Sometimes Our Stitches Stutter And Slow. Only A Woman's Eyes Can Tell. Other Times, The Tension In The Stitches Might Be Too Tight Because Of Tears, But Only We Know What Emotion Went Into The Making. Only Women Can Hear The Prayer.

This So Gnawed At Him On Some Nights That He Lay Awake Wondering Just How Many Unknown And Similarly Inconsequential Accidents And Bits Of Happenstance Were At This Moment Occurring Or Failing To Occur In Order To Ensure He Took His Next Breath, And The Next.

I Think One Of The Most Fertile, Unexplored Areas For Poets And Fiction Writers Is The World Of Science. I Become Overwhelmed By The Science World.