"My gripe is not with the lovers of the truth but with the truth herself. What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story? What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney? When the lightning strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long fingernails? No. When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid. What you need are the plump comforts of a story. The soothing, rocking safety of a lie." -Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale
Here in Seattle, we heard quite a bit of rain tapping at the window... With flood warnings in effect I was able to take a half day off of work and spend the morning with my mom and dad.
04 December 2007
The night wind revolves in the sky.
To hear the immense night,
still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
The saddest lines about her.