It Feels A Long Way Up And

What We Have Not Has Made Us What We Are. / ... / What We Are Not Drives Us To Consummation.

When I Am Working I Immediately Feel Hopeful.

One Of The Springs Of Poetry Is Joy.

I Feel Happy To Be Keeping A Journal Again. I've Missed It, Missed Naming Things As They Appear, Missed The Half Hour When I Push All Duties Aside And Savor The Experience Of Being Alive In This Beautiful Place.

It Is Possible, I Suppose, That We Are Returning To A Dark Age. What Is Frightening Is That Violence Is Not Only Represented By Nations, But Everywhere Walks Among Us Freely.