Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.

Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

I'm sure I've been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms...I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin.

Being, not doing, is my first joy.

May my silences become more accurate.

The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.