Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

You're more than a story.

At night, lying on your back and staring at the falling snow, it's easy to imagine oneself soaring through the stars.

I wanted a heaven. And I grew up striving for that world-- an eternal world- that would wash away my temporary misery.

Right now the day length is exactly the same as in spring when birds key into it and begin singing. The birds are a little confused by it all and the singing isn't very intense. It only lasts a week or so each fall, but it's still cool to hear spring bird songs at this time of the year.

Her lips tarried at mine. Baiting each other with the warmth of our breath, barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.