I wake expectant, hoping to see a new thing.

I work mornings only. I go out to lunch. Afternoons I play with the baby, walk with my husband, or shovel mail.

We teach our children one thing only, as we were taught: to wake up. We teach our children to look alive there, to join by words and activities the life of human culture on the planet

Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac.

But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

I breathed the air of history all unaware, and walked oblivious through its littered layers.

An Eskimo shaman said, Life's greatest danger lies in the fact that man's food consists entirely of souls.