I looked out the patio doors and saw a magpie perched on the railing. He was quiet as he looked around. Then with a gentle step towards the feeder he pecked up a piece of suet and flew away. It is still quiet outside, my slow breathing and the distant sounds of crows cawing the only rhythm I hear. Here I think about the day, in the stillness and tranquility that only crisp early mornings can bring.

To the Child Who haunts My Dreams.

I tried to pour all the girls I ever cared about into a blushing bottle of whiskey, into a neat little glass with melting ice, careful not to spill them on the unswept floor. I heard the meandering of hushed-voices through the scuffle.

Experience Essay O Ye of Little Faith.