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Thursday, September 14, 2006

I am stalked by death.
She sneaks up behind me and whispers cold truths.

I am a machine. I cook and bake and can and clean and store up for living after the frost.

I am constantly preparing for the shift in seasons.

I am unprepared.

So, I move, frantically, helplessly.

I am a machine.

3 comments:

andrea said...

Keep busy -- it's calming -- and accept as many hugs as you can get.

We don't prepare for winter here.(That was just an obnoxious thing to say, wasn't it? :)

Ruth said...

i'm thinking about you Joyce. xo

esther said...

thinking of you too