They Would Place Their Hands Together Inside

All Morning, Spence Has Been A Well-oiled Machine Of Activity. Everyone Doing Her Bit, Quietly And Efficiently. It's Strange How Deliberate People Are After A Death. All The Indecision Suddenly Vanishes Into Clear, Defined Moments--changing The Linens, Choosing A Dress Or A Hymn, The Washing Up, The Muttering Of Prayers. All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

And For A Moment, I Understand That I Have Friends On This Lonely Path; That Sometimes Your Place Is Not Something You Find, But Something You Have When You Need It.

A Gentle Breeze Catches In The Branches Then And I Hear It, Soft And Low, A Murmured Prayer--gem-ma, Gem-ma--and Then The Leaves Bend Down And Trail Delicate Fingers Across My Cold Cheeks.

Greetings, Ax Murderer! I Was Just Wondering How You Like Your Eggs?

...dreams Were Dreams And Reality Was Reality And She Felt People Were Better Off Understanding The Difference.