In the beginning was the word – and then another – and another. The adventure arrived like waves crashing in a dream – the dark waters – the blinding sunlight. Juices flowing – fingers racing – imagining the recipe – thoughts baking – black on white – laughing at the lion – no farewells.
And then the desert, the empty water bottle in the sand and shotgun in the closet.
I’m so glad prose never excited me and God is my God.