First we molt,then spin a web,after this we weave,until our food is dead.Next dancing a jig,And waiting for a meal,Then we wrestle a bitTil we sit and eat our fill.”Captain Muntweight

Nineteen secrets, nineteen stones,nineteen branches, nineteen bones,untold wonders in a daybreathing deep under stone and clay.

A gardener is like a prophet looking out on a barren land and saying, ‘I see corn on that hill, and beans beneath the grove, and lavender in the field, and over there some roses by the brick wall.’ Don’t you think that’s what a good friend should be like? A truly good friend is one who can look at our bare lives and see the fruit of what will one day come from deep inside us.

A thousand years ago or moreThey opened up the devil’s doorAnd a cwene of dark and deathCrawled out, and creeping stole our breathAnd we’ve been hiding ever-more.