How to keep your sanity...Sit at the dinner table and smile until those around you are driven positively mad with curiosity and anger. Say absolutely nothing.Find a rainbow in the sky. Run toward it, ignoring all fences, street signs and other objects until the rainbow fades or you get hit by a car.Tell people you are a crime-fighting mime. Make yourself a costume and run up to strangers and strike a heroic pose: your chin and chest out, your hands on your hips. Convince people that all mimes are super heroes, and you're just the only one who has ever been brave enough tell people.Find a Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal. Hold its hand as you walk down the street, his feet on the ground, and you bent over to reach his hand. Talk to him as if he is an important world leader like Tony Blair or Jaques Chirac. If anyone asks you what you're doing, introduce Pooh as "His Mightiness Mr. Chirac."
Deep in the WoodIt started as a curiosity. In her free time she would wander the edge of the wood, picking out the plant life she knew and guessing at the ones she didn't, naming them "star flower" and "shade bristle." She would come out of each encounter feeling refreshed and feeling her knowledge and being flowing through her more easily and more orderly. She could taste her self on her tongue and it made her want to see more. In time she began exploring the wood in her mind while she was supposed to be doing other things. She would sit in the middle of a lecture and wander through the trees, marveling at the green-tinted shadows and the yellow patches of sunlight. She would lay for hours on patches of grass while her hair turned golden yellow and warm breezes washed over her skin, making the leaves dance in rhythm with the shadows, and abruptly come back into the dullness of the indoors at a cough or a rustle in the room around her. Once s
November AutumnNovember days advance toward the snowstoward my reliefslowlyat its lazy pace.Chilled was my breath at the height of the sunbarren and gray were the forests where I lived.The first snowwet and unsureclung softly to raised blades of grassfrosting and crispening the world.Here the fall blends more easily to winter.Colors yet cling to the eavesthe ground underfoot not yet brown and cold.Drying flowers hang in doorwayswarm rose and greenagainst the chill panes of glass.Sunlight glows like candle lightthrough close laid treesin the softened mornings.The air smells of summer skieswhispering through its memory still.November autumnforsaken of snowwinter cannot hold yetchill and gray and warm.