So when I think of autumn$$$ I think of somebody with hands who does not want me to die.

She was fierce in the presence of death$$$ heroic even$$$ as she was at no other time. Its threat gave her direction$$$ clarity$$$ audacity.

I was so sure it would happen. That the past was an abused record with no choice but to repeat itself at the crack and no power on earth could lift the arm that held the needle.

Every sentence$$$ every word$$$ was new to them and they listened to what he said like bright-eyed ravens$$$ trembling in their eagerness to catch & interpret every sound in the universe.

I wish Id a knowed more people. I would of loved em all. If Id a knowed more$$$ I would a loved more.

There in the center of that silence was not eternity but the death of time and a loneliness so profound the word itself had no meaning.

They encouraged you to put some of your weight in their hands and soon as you felt how light and lovely it was$$$ they studied your scars and tribulations...

Sweet$$$ crazy conversations full of half sentences$$$ daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.

I still don't belong to anyone - I am mine.

O love$$$ turn from the changing sea and gaze$$$<br>Down these grey slopes$$$ upon the year grown old$$$<br>A-dying 'mid the autumn-scented haze<br>That hangeth o'er the hollow in the wold$$$<br>Where the wind-bitten ancient elms infold<br>Grey church$$$ long barn$$$ orchard$$$ and red-roofed stead$$$<br>Wrought in dead days for men a long while dead.<br>Come down$$$ O love; may not our hands still meet$$$<br>Since still we live today$$$ forgetting June$$$<br>Forgetting May$$$ deeming October sweet?