Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.

I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.

Awareness There is a dark place. A place where I have no eyes, no mouth. No words. I can't cry out because I have no breath. The silence is so deep I want to die. But I can't. The darkness and silence go on forever. It is not a dream. I don't dream.

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

I wonder at the weight of a Sparrow.

it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets