Overheard a stranger remark, “the act of love requires so much courage, don’t you think?” That question came back to me this morning as I watched the river slide over itself, at it walked forward into the fog. There is so much openness in the way water moves, and this makes me think of the liquid eyes of children before they are wounded into the age where dying enters their life as a distant glimmering. I would like to slide down the barricades to go to the edge of the besieged city where cavalry lead by its mad prophets stands in wait. But where will courage come, to take more than these steps, this one forward & the next one backward? Perhaps when I am wounded beyond mere pain.