Will you explain to me why people encourage delusional behaviour in children, and medicate it in adults?

I think the most interesting parts of human experience might be the sparks that come from that sort of chipping flint of cultures rubbing against each other.

Our childhood had passed over into history overnight. The transition was unnoticed by anyone but ourselves.

Once the rains abated, my father's garden thrived in the heat like an unleashed temper.

Downstream is always someone else's up.

There must be limits, somewhere, to the human footprint on this earth. When the whole of the world is reduced to nothing but human product, we will have lost the map that can show us how we got here, and can offer our spirits an answer when we ask why. Surely we are capable of declaring sacred some quarters that we dare not enter or possess.

Fiction is a sort of inter-human magic, allowing you to travel into a scene and feel it tingle on your skin.