It was a bright perfect morning. My plane and I flying over the last hills. Looking down the entire world looked like an ant’s playground. But staying up here is the happy part. To see the clouds so close, to feel them brushing past your face, trailing your fingertips through them. To reach out...

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And pick up your first beer after spending the day digging rows of corn, work from before the cock crows until the fading light of day chasing you into the barn. There would come a time when you will stay in the fields. Corn taller then your head. The smell of dirt and corn mixing in your nose, you reach out to pull an ear...

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To the God-orb, The Bright One, The Giver of Heat. To feel the first touch of his invisible finger as the Less-Bright fled at his touch, i/we/us think back to the when many raising ago, we/i/us first felt the touch of the One Who Gives Us Life. Us/we/I gives a little shudder of joy from our feeding all the way to...

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The slow cooling of heat. It is a good time. This time of slow change. We feel the moving thing stretch up into that which is nothing. Evan as we hunted down into that far below. Soon as soon as another few millions of coollings we will start our path to that far-below, as the *moving things* leave we for the that which is nothing then once again, we will go into that which is far below and become...