His last words were, “I’m asleep.”

Truth, like time, is an idea arising from, and dependent upon, human intercourse. The woods were dark and green. The canvas for all of her father’s stories of pirates and sultans and knights. It was little Ishy’s playground. She could be herself there with a shadow cast down upon her, encircling her like a flaming locust. She could whisper to God or shout out loud. It was just a patch of woods not far from the manor house. She could still hear the dinner bell. Somehow, her little corner of the universe showed her how much of life is a personal journey.

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