There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Balloons are designed to teach small children this.

You know I've never agreed with baths. Sittin' around in your own dirt like that.

In the Ramtops village where they dance the real Morris dance, for example, they believe that no-one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away - until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone's life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence.

Most gods find it hard to walk and think at the same time.

A horse's skull always looks scary, even if someone has put lipstick on it.

A bad hunter chases. A good hunter waits.

At such times the universe gets a little closer to us. They are strange times, times of beginnings and endings. Dangerous and powerful. And we feel it even if we don't know what it is. These times are not necessarily good, and not necessarily bad. In fact, what they are depends on what *we* are.