the Table is quite Well Laid she Remarks quietly
What does one say on a Sunday afternoon when the light fades and it feels that all that can be said has been said? Surely that is untrue, yet sometimes imagination runs away and decides to play in a sandbox in a different place and I am left forlorn and abandoned, unsure of what is true. But perhaps the thought should simply make me dig in towards the center and look for this other place, that land for which my imagination yearns. If I am left alone, perhaps I am not in a position of authority to state that this land which I call my home is in fact the homely house for which my soul desires. But really, my thoughts spiral in on themselves and would collapse if it were not for the green and flowering arrow of reality that pulls my thoughts tight around it and points me towards that higher altar of light blessed truth. And so I turn once more my head and gaze upwards and slightly to the west.