He handed me his hand-written manuscript, bid me adieu, and left the room.
All in Life
Vaguely aware that closing-time was drawing nigh, we stumbled on, pushing our limits to complete the mission. Nothing was completely clear anymore, except that our mission was stunningly stupid.
Loss is the stuff of life. It's also the stuff of drama. Maybe you'd be better off thinking of your loss as one more thread in an unfolding tapestry of epic struggle. Then what seemed pointless becomes destiny. It will still hurt, but your suffering will be given context.
No one seems troubled that so much of the News is devoted to trivialities rather than information useful to decision-making by citizens who give a damn.
I wonder about these re-connections with people from my past. Are they unusual, or are they common? I don't think they only happen to me. Are certain people woven together in an unseen fabric for some purpose unknown? I suspect so.
Life is hard to chew. Sometimes you need a knife. Sugar and spice makes it tast better.
The Hippos walked leisurely away to a life of freedom in the Magdalena basin. It was effortless. They took to Columbia's watery wilderness as though they'd always lived there.
Every day people needlessly agitate
themselves by imputing fanciful motives to someone else.
Not that his life was really spotless. It was only that he considered it so. Not that he really considered anything.
Rue, gist, and 'tis, are words still in use, but they aren’t used too often.
A few generations from now they may be found only in old books.
Some say the soul is revealed through the eyes. One eye is warmly trusting. The other eye is coldly suspicious.
While the kitties stared with frighted eyes from inside their carrying case. We chatted about them.
A few tales out of hundreds that take only a few paragraphs to tell. None important in any way. They stay in my head, anyway.
With no one to interfere, Flora and local flora, could bloom in their own special ways