...life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature...as

...life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature...as If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.

As I Get Considerably Beyond The Biblical Allotment Of Three Score Years And Ten, I Feel With Increasing Intensity That I Can Express My Gratitude For Still Being Around On The Oxygen-side Of The Earth's Crust Only By Not Standing Pat On What I Have Hitherto Known And Loved. While Oxygen Lasts, There Are Still New Things To Love, Especially If Compassion Is A Form Of Love.

I Sat There And Forgot And Forgot, Until What Remained Was The River That Went By And I Who Watched. On The River The Heat Mirages Danced With Each Other And Then They Danced Through Each Other And Then They Joined Hands And Danced Around Each Other. Eventually The Water Joined The River, And There Was Only One Of Us. I Believe It Was The River.

When Exhausted And Feeling Sorry For Yourself, At Least Change Your Socks.

Now Nearly All Those I Loved And Did Not Understand When I Was Young Are Dead, But I Still Reach Out To Them.