Sunset Is The Saddest Light

I Marvel At How Good I Was Before I Met Him, How I Lived Molded To The Smallest Space Possible, My Days The Size Of Little Beads That Passed Without Passion Through My Fingers. So Few People Know What They're Capable Of. At Forty-two I'd Never Done Anything That Took My Own Breath Away, And I Suppose Now That Was Part Of The Problem - My Chronic Inability To Astonish Myself.

I Hadn't Been Out To The Hives Before, So To Start Off She Gave Me A Lesson In What She Called 'bee Yard Etiquette'. She Reminded Me That The World Was Really One Bee Yard, And The Same Rules Work Fine In Both Places. Don't Be Afraid, As No Life-loving Bee Wants To Sting You. Still, Don't Be An Idiot; Wear Long Sleeves And Pants. Don't Swat. Don't Even Think About Swatting. If You Feel Angry, Whistle. Anger Agitates While Whistling Melts A Bee's Temper. Act Like You Know What You're Doing, Even If You Don't. Above All, Send The Bees Love. Every Little Thing Wants To Be Loved.

I Realize That I Can Be With Someone, But On A Deeper Level I'm Not Available To Them At All. I Have Attention Deficit Disorder Of The Soul.

It Was The Oldest Sound There Was. Souls Flying Away.

The Redness Had Seeped From The Day And Night Was Arranging Herself Around Us. Cooling Things Down, Staining And Dyeing The Evening Purple And Blue Black.