everything is passing away now. sun sets sooner now. the chilling lullaby of the crickets on indian summer nites will rock us to sleep soon.
and above the death of it all floats tid bits of freshness, newness. etches & sketches of hope, they are barely there;; but the only thing that matters is that they are there.
written on 2003-08-02 at 10:26 p.m.
she / lost