"I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on summer humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives."
March is a month without mercy for rabid basketball fans.
There is no such thing as a 'gentleman gambler' when the Big Dance rolls
around. All sheep will be fleeced, all fools will be punished severely... There
are no Rules when the deal goes down in the final weeks of March. Even your
good friends will turn into monsters.
But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness. The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head ... The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on.