I never had tea, but the coffee from a sock in the worlds best kitchen sure was hard to beat. Precise, organized, patient.

I saw possibilities stretch before me like the crosses at a national cemetery. Overwhelming, bright quietude. As if in a shade a figure is hidden but has always been there.

It was the beginning of a baptism. Not blood. Not water. Not fire. It stretches now even here, it’s puissance bold awe.

I cannot save you from hurt little ones. Oh Catherine the Great