There are years that ask questions and years that answer. - Zora Neale Hurston

The monstropolous beast had left his bed. The two hundred miles a hour wind had loosed his chains. He seized hold of his dikes and ran forward until he met the quarters; uprooted them like grass and rushed on after his supposed-to-be conquerors, rolling the dikes, rolling the houses, rolling the people in the houses along with other timbers. The sea was walking the earth with a heavy heel.

The sun was gone, but he had left his footprints in the sky. It was the time for sitting on porches beside the road.

Love, I find, is like singing.