“Look for her not in the valleys below, nor in the temple rooms. For she has gone, gone into the high passes, far beyond this dying moon.”

“the world had gone too far in its enthusiasm for moderation and the thing had to be stopped”

“She walks barefoot into the humid night, moonlight on her freckled shoulders. Near a huge, live oak tree on the edge of her father's cotton fields, Sidda looks up into the sky. In the crook of the crescent moon sits the Holy Lady, with strong muscles and a merciful heart. She kicks her splendid legs like the moon is her swing and the sky, her front porch. She waves down at Sidda like she has just spotted an old buddy.Sidda stands in the moonlight and lets the Blessed Mother love every hair on her six-year-old head. Tenderness flows down from the moon and up from the earth. For one fleeting, luminous moment, Sidda Walker knows there has never been a time when she has not been loved.”

“In the crook of the crescent moon sits the Holy Lady, with strong muscles and a merciful heart. She kicks her her splendid legs like the moon is her swing and the sky, her front porch. She waves down at Sidda like she has just spotted an old buddy.”

“I'm an old man, and she's gone now. So don't worry, okay?”

“SilverThe liquid ebony stretches outand mingles with the midnight skywhere high above,as on a throne,is perched that perfect sphere of silver.She looks upon the lapping waves,the calm, all serene;She looks upon the rocky shore,watching dark nothing break in two and becometiny globs of light.The soft white foam creepsupon the smooth beige landto darken it but for a moment,only to retreat back to itsblackened home and hide among the vastness.The silver moon smiles openly,casting a healthy grinupon the rippled water below,sending gifts of silverto float on seas of woe.”

“When I desire you a part of me is gone...”