The Summer Tree

There are kinds of action, for good or ill, that lie so far outside the boundaries of normal behavior that they force us, in acknowledging that they have occurred, to restructure our own understanding of reality. We have to make room for them.

We salvage what we can, what truly matters to us, even at the gates of despair.

Dave hung up. And unplugged the phone. With a fierce and bitter pain he stared at it, watching how, over and over again, it didn't ring.

One didn't stop to talk with creatures from one's nightmares.

Daylight was coming outside, but it was not only that: courage cast its own light.

For some moments the two men sat quietly, each wrapped in his own thoughts, then Ivor rose. 'I should speak to Levon about tomorrow's hunt,' he said. 'Sixteen [eltors], I think.' 'At least,' the shaman said in an aggrieved tone. 'I could eat a whole one myself. We haven't feasted in a long time, Ivor.' Ivor snorted. 'A very long time, you greedy old man. Twelve whole days...why aren't you fat?' 'Becaues,' the wisest one explained patiently, 'you never have enough food at the feasts.

But courage was not lacking in her heart, though it might be foolhardy and unwise.

Alluding and attacking, summoning a courage, embodying a gallantry of defiance that hurt to see, it was so noble and so doomed.