Wanting memories to appear with strange juxtapositions that flow to the woods, I study the hawk circling then landing on a winter branch watching it view the ground for only movement that it sees. I dance with my amazement at how the certainties of yesterday continue to appear as idols in my life. I wonder, are there necessary idolatries that God does not mind? How does one know how to resolve the paradox that all will be revealed in time? Will another dimension be needed? Once again my poems become questions. Perhaps questions make memories.