"How is it that one day life is orderly and you are content, a little cynical perhaps but on the whole just so, and then without warning you find the solid floor is a trapdoor and you are now in another place whose geography is uncertain and whose customs are strange?

Travellers at least have a choice. Those who set sail know that things will not be the same as at home. Explorers are prepared. But for us, who travel along the blood vessels, who come to the cities of the interiors by chance, there is no preparation. We who were fluent find life is a foreign language. Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back is worse."

Jeanette Winterson -- The Passion

Summer child lazily lizarding the days away.

no promises of silks,
i do not expect pure joy in each moment,
nor tenderness in every word.
give me only truth.
give me yourself and none other, the
mullings that keep you awake, the
visions of future comforts,
the shirt you wear when your skin doesn't fit.

i have nothing to impart but simplicity and the real.
no throne, no glory, no fame to my name.
my memory deceives me and i stammer often
but i am strong as the moon in all its crescents,
those smiles up and around the sky.
i breathe ocean air deep,
watch the tide further creep,
and will hold you together so you do not disappear.

My earrings are mocking me.