I am sitting here, cozy still in my swimsuit and what those of my family who still remain somehow in the eighties call a 'wife beater', comfortably cool and yet sticky to the touch and thinking as usual about a million and three things, but not a million and four as that would cause an overload.

Have not been able to put A Circle Of Quiet down for longer than a while. By longer than a while I mean, in good Pennsylvania English Dutch, a short time. It holds such good concepts in it that I cannot even hope to grasp a bit more than a little here and a little there. I will plan to read and reread it over and over until I've grasped it all and even then read it more as there will always be something more to learn.

Latin roots alongside writers block.
Death dealings sidling up to life bringers and somehow matching harmoniously two things that cannot be more opposite and yet are so inexplicitly intertwined that we cannot separate the two without canceling them both out.
White church steeples and New York City skyscrapers.
The stuff of life which makes a beautiful mess somehow interlocked and coming out more beautiful a mess than you or I could have ever imagined.