It's okay to dismantle stuff; there are smidgins of joy in the cracks.
They reveal that life is not a tapestry; rather, it is nothing nearly as well ordered or tightly woven.
The thing about dictatorships, and oppressive regimes in general, is that there is no freedom of speech.
Somewhere between the web and the weft of words— in the space where the feeling of life almost forms a thought —is the realm of being at one with the plant.
We were conference-bound, and high-speed conversation bounced back and forth for almost the entire duration until we reached our destination.
I heard the Earth rumbling: it was the hearts of millions of fairies turning to stone and thudding on the ground like persistent, regular blows from a hammer. They were dying in their successive droves as daylight reached one time zone after another around the Planet.