...this Marvelous Graceful Thing, This Joy Of

There's Something About Rushing Water That I Can Watch For Hours And Feel As If I Need To Do Nothing More. It's Alive In A Way That's Greater Than Any Description Of It.

And If You Were A Spirit, And Time Did Not Bind You, And Patience And Love Were All You Knew, Then There You Would Wait For Someone To Return, And The Story To Unfold.

They're Not Just Dreams. Not Anymore, I Dream More Than I Wake Now, And, At Times, I Have Crossed Over. Can't You See? I've Been There.

Rigel, Betelgeuse, And Orion. There Was No Finer Church, No Finer Choir, Than The Stars Speaking In Silence To The Many Consumptives Silently Condemned, A Legion Upon The Dark Rooftops. The Wind Came Down From The North Like A Runner In Lacrosse, Violent And Hard, To Batter Every Living Thing. They Were There, Each One Alone In Conversation With The Stars, Mining Ephemeral Love From Cold And Distant Light.

It's A Defining Difference, Curiosity. I've Never Known A Stupid Person Who Was Curious, Or A Curious Person Who Was Stupid.