How Can My Ankles And Arms Be

The Wind Picks Up. It Sends Leaves Scurrying For Cover Until A Softer Breeze Blows Through, Settling Them Down Again As If To Say, Shhh, There, There, It's All Right. One Leaf Still Dances In The Air. It Spins Higher And Higher, Defying Gravity And Logic, Stretching For Something Just Out Of Reach. It Shall Have To Fall, Of Course. Eventually. But For Now, I Hold My Breath, Willing It To Keep Going, Taking Comfort In Its Struggle.

Travel Opens Your Mind As Few Other Things Do. It Is Its Own Form Of Hypnotism, And I Am Forever Under Its Spell

Will Was Making A Speech, Something About Having Been Young And Careless Once, The Sort Of Thing Old-timers Said When They Issued A Deathblow, As If They Thought Their Sanctimonious Ramblings Disguised As Empathy Would Be Welcomed, But Evie Was Only Half Listening.

Or Perhaps It Is Some Combination Of Spirit And Desire, Love And Hope, Some Alchemy That We Each Possess And Can Put To Use, If We First Know Where To Look Without Flinching.

Yes, Go On. Leave. You're Always Coming And Going. The Rest Of Us Are Stuck Here. Do You Think He'd Still Love You If He Knew Who You Are? He Doesn't Really Care—only When It Suits Him.