Water And Stone Flesh And Bone Night

As For Me, I Had Found Love, And That Was A Gift Worth Suffering For.

Eat Of My Deep Earth, Drink Of My Living Streams, For I Am Your Mother. Your Heart Is My Wild Drum, Your Breath My Eternal Song. If You Would Live, Dance With Me!

Trust Can Be A Hard Lesson; Hope Still More Difficult.

There Was So Much Of Beauty Here: The Neat, Small Tracks Of A Foraging Creature, Stoat Or Marten; The Inticate Tracery Of A Skeleton Leaf, Still Clinging Vainly To Its Parent Tree As, Little By Little, Time Stripped It Of Its Substance, Leaving Only The Delicate Remembrance Of What It Had Been.

More Like Some Small, Fierce Bird Of Prey, Something With A Sharp Bite. An Owl Perhaps, That Speaks Only When The Rest Of The World Sleeps. Jenny Will Do Well Enough.