The hole snorts and says, Do it.

It’s a smug, self-satisfied voice. Constant chatter all night long – Star light, star bright! Shut me up with dynamite!

Below, in their hammocks, Bobbi and Melinda sleep beautifully, and the backyard shimmers with the lights of Christmas, and here, at last, I’ve come up against the edge of an imposing question: What now? Three hours till daylight. Soon, I realize, it will be time for absolutes.


Adam’s Navel
The Imagination of Disaster