It's not like I need to begin again. So many years have already passed, full of burdens and bursts of possibilities. I should applaud myself for no longer falling into the trap of substituting new illusions for the abandoned ones. And, yes, there remains a sublime madness in the soul. In this birthday season of ice and cold when the wind blows with an edge, the amaryllis blooms, sending color to the outermost rim of consciousness. Now, I am more and more sure of grace. I have watched those most close to me fall and then get up to brush off debris from their knees. Some have chosen to sit for a while and I often think, Should I have joined them? Is the rim too fragile to hold both of us? But, there I go again, something I have done throughout my time alive, asking the questions which envision some sort of answer that ties a birthday present up with a bow.
today is my birthday fifty-six labyrinthine years following the thread