The Girl In The Mirror Caught My

Gerry?' Laurel Had To Strain To Hear Thought The Noise On The Other End Of The Line. 'gerry? Where Are You?' 'london. A Phone Booth On Fleet Street.' 'the City Still Has Working Phone Booths?' 'it Would Appear So. Unless This Is The Tardis, In Which Case I'm In Serious Trouble.

Mother Didn't Understand That Children Aren't Frightened By Stories; That Their Lives Are Full Of Far More Frightening Things Than Those Contained In Fairy Tales.

Round And Round The Questions Flew, Until Finally I Found Myself Standing At The Open Door Of A Bookshop. It’s Natural In Times Of Great Perplexity, I Think, To Seek Out The Familiar, And The High Shelves And Long Rows Of Neatly Lined-up Spines Were Immensely Reassuring. Amid The Smell Of Ink And Binding, The Dusty Motes In Beams Of Strained Sunlight, The Embrace Of Warm, Tranquil Air, I Felt That I Could Breathe More Easily.

Had Any Poet Adequately Described The Wretched Ugliness Of A Loved One Turned Inside Out With Grief?

In Real Life Turning Points Are Sneaky. They Pass By Unlabeled And Unheeded. Opportunities Are Missed, Catastrophes Unwittingly Celebrated. Turning Points Are Only Uncovered Later, By Historians Who Seek To Bring Order To A Lifetime Of Tangled Moments.