I got a salacious email from a lady named Gladys Something. I say “something” to protect all the innocent Gladii out there, who are, I must add, spry old ladies. I did not do the hard stats, but the soft ones suggest that if your name is Gladys Something you may live well over 100 years.
Unless there is chicken-n-waffle scandal involved…
She buys ginger and mangos but neglects them until all the world’s fruit flies descend upon the kitchen. Voices seep out through windows and doorways, ghosts of past arguments inhabiting the souls of mangos turpentine as they molder not in the kitchen so skillfully renovated by strangers years ago, but on the ground beneath the trees in the lush, hastily-drawn country where the green bird flew from the cage through the open door into blue sky, royal palms, the street where he sang Jesus loves me this I know… then looked bewildered middle-of-the-road until she came for him. Did she tell him she would be there always or even then did she know that sometimes you have no choice but to leave love behind?
Matthew 13:34-35 KJV
 All these things spake Jesus unto the multitude in parables; and without a parable spake he not unto them:  That it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying, I will open my mouth in parables; I will utter things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world.
Oh, so you know the Greeks? I ask you as you tilt your head and flash a wry smile “I know it all–all of you, all of this” the smile says. And I cannot help but love you.
We are sitting at my yellow girl-sized craft table, teetering on those little chairs they make for children so their legs won’t have to dangle and swing. So we can feel big when we are still little. Sip the most reassuring tea from my miniature plastic tea set. Reminisce about old times. I think it is amazing you have so much time for me–time for us when all around the stars spin and blink as by your hand —your strong right hand and your word sword-in-the-mouth word you speak infinite worlds into being
Always bigger than before.
The day before the storm the dogs ruled the yard leaving the small prophets to fend and worry.
Grieving, I am afraid, the loss of such fragile things, a nest, the children, promise of safety, when there never was much.