If I had goals, maybe I would accomplish something. But goals and accomplishment seem such a distraction, with days this full and so much living to do. Well, you ask, what is it, then, that you really do? And I say, I don’t know exactly. But a great part of it is loving you. The rest is flight of some kind. I see birds on the wing, and I am among them. I see a waterfall, and I fall too. A man’s worn out body is lowered into the grave, and I descend through the very same space. Does that seem strange? Once, I was a bright yellow balloon being bounced between two laughing children, when the wind caught me and carried me off. High up above, I could see them pointing and watching, until they became so small they faded from view. And I thought, and I guess always will, that all is well, and without me is within me too.