We'd Never Expect To Understand

There Is A Kind Of Poetry, Bad And Good, In Evrything, Everywhere We Look.

And It Was Always The Stories That Needed The Telling That Gave Us The Rope We Could Cross Any River With. They Balanced Us High Above Any Crevasse. They Made Us Be Natural Acrobats. They Made Us Brave. They Met Us Well. They Changed Us. It Was In Their Nature To.

Outside The Leaves On The Trees Constricted Slightly; They Were The Deep Done Green Of The Beginning Of Autumn. It Was A Sunday In September. There Would Only Be Four. The Clouds Were High And The Swallows Would Be Here For Another Month Or So Before They Left For The South Before They Returned Again Next Summer.

Every Great Narrative Is At Least Two Narratives, If Not More - The Thing That Is On The Surface And Then The Things Underneath Which Are Invisible.

All We Are Is Eyes Looking For The Unbroken Or The Edges Where The Broken Bits Might Fit Each Other.