Perhaps he will not return. But what we have lived comes back to us. We see more. We feel, as our rings increase, something that lifts our branches, that stretches our furthest leaf-tips further.

It is said he made his earth-journey, and lost what he sought. It is said they felled him and cut up his limbs for firewood. And it is said his head still sang…

The wind, the birds, do not sound poorer but clearer, recalling our agony, and the way we danced.

By dawn he was gone. We have stood here since, in our new life. We have waited. He does not return.

I didn't belong as a kid, and that always bothered me. If only I'd known that one day my differentness would be an asset, then my early life would have been mu…

There are moments in history when brooding tragedy and its dark shadows can be lightened by recalling great moments of the past.

She was a young person whose reveries never were in retrospect. For her past was no treasury of distinct memories, all hoarded and classified, some brighter th…