There is only one question: / how to love this world.

When will you have a little pity for every soft thing that walks through the world, yourself included.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

All night my heart makes its way however it can over the rough ground of uncertainties, but only until night meets and then is overwhelmed by morning, the light deepening, the wind easing and just waiting, as I too wait (and when have I ever been disappointed?) for redbird to sing

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over.

Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.