A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it

A pine needle fell in the forest. The hawk saw it. The deer heard it. The white bear smelled it

East of the sun and west of the moon.

East of the sun and west of the moon.' As unfathomable as the words were, I realized I must figure them out, reason it through. For I would go to this impossible land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. From the moment the sleigh had vanished from sight and I could no longer hear the silver bells I knew that I would go after the stranger that had been the white bear to make right the terrible wrong I had done him.... All that mattered was to make things right. And I would do whatever it took, journey to wherever I must, to reach that goal.

It is odd, the twists that life will sometimes take. The ewe that you think will give birth with ease dies bringing forth a two-headed lamb. Or the ski trail that you have been told is treacherous, you navigate easily.

That's the trouble with loving a wild thing: You're always left watching the door.

And telling a story, I suppose, is like winding a skein of spun yarn- you sometimes lose track of the beginning.