The Happiest Folk Are Those That Are

When Reason Sleeps, The Monsters Of Repression Will Emerge.

I Am Not A Storyteller . . . Not Like The Others. I Only Have One Tale To Tell.

It's Special, Grandparents And Grandchldren. So Much Simpler. Is It Always So, I Wonder? I Think Perhaps It Is. While One's Child Takes A Part Of One's Heart To Use And Misuse As They Please, A Grandchild Is Different. Gone Are The Bonds Of Guilt And Responsibility That Burden The Maternal Relationship. The Way To Love Is Free.

Cassandra Wondered At The Mind's Cruel Ability To Toss Up Flecks Of The Past. Why, As She Neared Her Life's End, Her Grandmother's Head Should Ring With The Voices Of People Long Since Gone. Was It Always This Way? Did Those With Passage Booked On Death's Silent Ship Always Scan The Dock For Faces Of The Long-departed?

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.