I carry a log--yes. Is it funny to you? It is not to me. Behind all things are reasons. Reasons can even explain the absurd. Do we have the time to learn the reasons behind the human being's varied behavior? I think not. Some take the time. Are they called detectives?
My husband died in a fire. No one can know my sorrow. My love is gone. Yet, I feel him near me. Sometimes I can almost see him. At night when the wind blows, I think of what he might have been. Again I wonder: why?When I see a fire, I feel my anger rising. This was not a friendly fire. This was not a forest fire. It was a fire *in the woods*. This is all I am permitted to say.
There are clues everywhere--all around us. But the puzzle maker is clever. The clues, although surrounding us, are somehow mistaken
for something else. And the something else--the wrong interpretation of the clues--we call our world. Our world is a magical smoke screen. How should we interpret the happy song of the meadowlark,
or the robust flavor of a wild strawberry?