I let my head fall back, and I gazed into the Eternal Blue Sky. It was morning. Some of the sky was yellow, some the softest blue. One small cloud scuttled along. Strange how everything below can be such death and chaos and pain while above the sky is peace, sweet blue gentleness. I heard a shaman say once, the Ancestors want our souls to be like the blue sky.

No more crying. It's all wetness and no comfort at all.

He looked at her, and the clarity of his dark eyes struck her heart with a sensation of a wound touched.

I am not sure I am ready to know what I think about that, so I dare not write it out.

Life is short, so live extra lives. Read books.

Her nightmare clung to her like the smell of smoke to cloth.

Some people are born with the first word of a language resting on their tongue though it may take some time before they can taste it.