It's Funny About Love', Sophia Said. 'the

There Are Such A Lot Of Things That Have No Place In Summer And Autumn And Spring. Everything That’s A Little Shy And A Little Rum. Some Kinds Of Night Animals And People That Don’t Fit In With Others And That Nobody Really Believes In. They Keep Out Of The Way All The Year. And Then When Everything’s Quiet And White And The Nights Are Long And Most People Are Asleep—then They Appear.

But That's How It Is When You Start Wanting To Have Things. Now, I Just Look At Them, And When I Go Away I Carry Them In My Head. Then My Hands Are Always Free, Because I Don't Have To Carry A Suitcase.

...by And By A Change Came: I Started To Muse About The Shape Of My Nose. I Put My Trivial Surroundings Aside And Mused More And More About Myself, And I Found This To Be A Bewitching Occupation. I Stopped Asking And Longed Instead To Speak Of My Thoughts And Feelings. Alas, There Was No One Besides Myself Who Found Me Interesting.

Before We Left, Grandmother Talked A Lot About The Arctic Night We Would Fly Through. 'isn't It A Mystical Word, "arctic"? Pure And Quite Hard. And Meridians. Isn't That Pretty? We're Going To Fly Along Them, Faster Than The Light Can Follow Us... Time Won't Be Able To Catch Us.

It's A Funny Thing About Bogs. You Can Fill Them With Rocks And Sand And Old Logs And Make A Little Fenced-in Yard On Top With A Woodpile And Chopping Block - But Bogs Go Right On Behaving Like Bogs. Early In The Spring They Breathe Ice And Make Their Own Mist, In Remembrance Of The Time When They Had Black Water And Their Own Sedge Blossoming Untouched.