Country People Tend To Consider That They

True Solitude Is A Din Of Birdsong, Seething Leaves, Whirling Colors, Or A Clamor Of Tracks In The Snow.

Animals Used To Provide A Lowlife Way To Kill And Get Away With It, As They Do Still, But, More Intriguingly, For Some People They Are An Aperture Through Which Wounds Drain. The Scapegoat Of Olden Times, Driven Off For The Bystanders Sins, Has Become A Tender Thing, A Running Injury. There, Running Away Is Me: Hurt It And You Are Hurting Me.

The Question Of Whether It's God's Green Earth Is Not At Center Stage, Except In The Sense That If So, One Is Reminded With Some Regularity That He May Be Dying.

Suicidal Thinking, If Serious, Can Be A Kind Of Death Scare, Comparable To Suffering A Heart Attack Or Undergoing A Cancer Operation. One Survives Such A Phase Both Warier And Chastened. When-ten Years Ago-i Emerged From A Bad Dip Into Suicidal Speculation, I Felt Utterly Exhausted And Yet Quite Fearless Of Ordinary Dangers, Vastly Afraid Of Myself But Much Less Scared Of Extraneous Eventualities.

If Two People Are In Love They Can Sleep On The Blade Of A Knife.