That's got to be at least one of the benefits of heaven - never having to act normal again.

That's got to be at least one of the benefits of heaven - never having to act normal again.

It is odd how we sometimes deny ourselves the very pleasure we have longed for and which is finally within our reach.

And, finally, I know, too. That throwing away this mess doesn't mean I'm giving something up. Or losing something I can't get back. It's just that there are too many pieces and too much dust. I'm just ready for something whole." —Pete Cassidy

In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog. Food is better in November than any other time of the year.

In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.

God turns clouds inside out to make fluffy beds for the dogs in Dog Heaven, and when they are tired from running and barking and eating ham-sandwich biscuits, the dogs find a cloud bed for sleeping. God watches over each one of them. And there are no bad dreams.