December 28, 2007 – Cold, raw. Storm coming. Again.

          
                                   Between Worlds

                             And he said to himself
                             in a sunken morning moon
                             between two pines
                             between lost gold and lingering green
                            
                             I believe I will count up my worlds
                             There seem to me to be three
                             There is a world I came from which is Number One
                             There is a world I am in now, which is Number Two
                             There is a world I go to next, which is Number Three

                             There was the seed pouch, the place I lay dark in, nursed and shaped in a
                                  warm, red, wet cuddling place; if I tugged at a latchstring or doubled
                                  a dimpled fist or twitched a leg or a foot, only the Mother knew.

                             There is the place I am in now, where I look back and look ahead, and dream
                             and wonder.

                              There is the next place –
                              And he took a look out of a window
                              at a sunken morning moon
                              between two pines,
                              between lost gold and lingering green. 

             Carl Sandburg