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We are so caught up in our own brief stories that we think we are the measure of things. The Earth has a story of her own, immeasurably longer and deeper than any of ours, or even our collective story as a species. We come and go and Earth abides. But like us creatures, the planet changes continually, ever becoming and unbecoming. For every birth there is a death, every building up eventually subsides into collapse, every rising brings on a fall. Night and day, winter and summer, sorrow and joy, there can never be one without the other. Life truly does hang in the balance. We are always dancing in the dragon's mouth, oblivious to every thing but our one precious terrible or glorious moment. Whenever and wherever you can, as much as you are able, rejoice in it and give thanks that you are here. Henry's books .

Nose MOHS...

My nose job last week was a MOHS job. As I had to wait about forty-five minutes between carving sessions, I had some time to make a start at writing a short story. It's an Appalachian take on Greek mythology about a mobility challenged blacksmith named Festus who is trying to find his mother who abandoned him as a child. Tentative title: Hephaestus By Any Other Name. I'll keep you posted.

Henry's books.