Friday, November 24, 2006. Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines! I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands. With these jasmines, these white jasmines. I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;. I have heard the liquid murmur of the river. Through the darkness of midnight;. Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road. In the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil. That I held in my hands when I was a child.

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Fiction, poetry, drama, essays. Beneath the general leaden overcast. Little ragged dark clouds are scudding, as they say,. Something in the calm air,. Like held breath, has swallows darting. All directions in frantic preparation. There is purpose in that sky. And no blue in sight. Are the swallows enjoying this? Yesterday evening when the tornado sirens. Howled over the town, my impulse. Was to go outside and see.