Ten Years, She's Dead, And I Still

That’s What’s So Gorgeous About Humanity. It Doesn’t Matter How Bleak Our Daily Lives Are, We Still Fight For The Light. I Think That’s Our Divinity. We Lean Into Love, Even In The Most Hideous Circumstances. We Manage To Hope.

I'm Bred For Farm Work, And For Such Folk, The Only A's You Get Come From Effort. Strife And Strain Are All The World Can Offer, And They Temper You Into Something Unbreakable Because Lord Knows They'll Try -- Without Let Up -- To Break You.

Every Now And Then We Enter The Presence Of The Numinous And Deduce For An Instant How We're Formed, In What Detail The Force That Infuses Every Petal Might Specifically Run Through Us, Wishing Only To Lure Us Into Our Full Potential.

The Truth Is When I Went To Graduate School I Would've Said I Was Among The Least Talented Of The Students, I Was Certainly The Least Smart, Or Less Educated. But I Worked Very Hard.

The Lesson You've Got To Learn Is The Someday You'll Someday Stagger To, Blinking In Cold Light, All Tears Shed, Ready To Poke Your Bovine Head In The Yoke They've Shaped. Everyone Learns This. Born, Everyone Breathes, Pays Tax, Plants Dead And Hurts Galore. There's Grief Enough For Each. My Mother Learned By Moving Man To Man, Outlived Them All. The Parched Earth's Bare (once She Leaves It) Of Any Who Watched The Instants I Trod It. Other Than Myself, Of Course. I've Made A Study Of Bearing And Forbearance. Everyone Does, It Turns Out, And Note Those Faces Passing By: Not One's A God.