I Had, Of Course, No

A Tree Is Alive, And Thus It Is Always More Than You Can See. Roots To Leaves, Yes-those You Can, In Part, See. But It Is More-it Is The Lichens And Moss And Ferns That Grow On Its Bark, The Life Too Small To See That Lives Among Its Roots, A Community We Know Of, But Do Not Think On. It Is Every Fly And Bee And Beetle That Uses It For Shelter Or Food, Every Bird That Nests In Its Branches. Every One An Individual, And Yet Every One Part Of The Tree, And The Tree Part Of Every One.

Normal' Is A Dryer Setting.

I Always Thought My Questions Were Wrong Questions Because No One Else Asked Them. Maybe No One Thought Of Them. Maybe Darkness Got There First. Maybe I Am The First Light Touching A Gulf Of Ignorance... Maybe My Questions Matter.

Other People, Including Me, Have Written Books With Main Characters Who Were Old And Rich. Or Old And Brilliant. Old Sages, Old Wizards, Old Rich People.

Now My Mother, Interestingly Enough, Was Not A Feminist In Her Own Mind.