She Was Like A Butterfly,

I Swim In A Sea Of Words. They Flow Around Me And Through Me And, By A Process That Is Not Fully Clear To Me, Some Delicate Hidden Membrane Draws Forth The Stuff That Is The Necessary Condition Of My Life.

We Were Too Intelligent, Too Cynical For War. Of Course, You Don't Have To Be Stupid And Primitive To Die A Stupid, Primitive Death.

'you've Got Mail!' Exclaims The Cheery Automaton At America Online. The Flag On The Mailbox Icon Waves Invitingly On My Computer Screen. For A Second, I'm 10 Years Old Again, Waiting For The Postman's Whistle To Slice The Stillness Of An Australian Afternoon.

And One Of The Things That I Learned Was You Can't Generalise At All About A Woman In A Veil. You Can't Think You Know Her Story, Because She Will Confound You Over And Over Again. She May Be An Engineer Or A Diplomat Or A Doctor. Or She May Be An Unbelievable Babe With Bleached Hair Down To Her Waist.

God Warns Us Not To Love Any Earthly Thing Above Himself, And Yet He Sets In A Mother's Heart Such A Fierce Passion For Her Babes That I Do Not Comprehend How He Can Test Us So.