antoine de saint-exupéry

"Good evening," said the little prince courteously.

"Good evening," said the snake.

"What planet is this on which I have come down?" asked the little prince.

"This is the Earth; this is Africa," the snake answered.

"Ah! Then there are no people on the Earth?"

"This is the desert. There are no people in the desert. The Earth is large," said the snake.

The little prince sat down on a stone, and raised his eyes toward the sky.

"I wonder," he said, "whether the stars are set alight in heaven so that one day each one of us may find his own again... Look at my planet. It is right there above us. But how far away it is!"

"It is beautiful," the snake said. "What has brought you here?"

"I have been having some trouble with a flower," said the little prince.

"Ah!" said the snake.

And they were both silent.

"Where are the men?" the little prince at last took up the conversation again. "It is a little lonely in the desert..."

"It is also lonely among men," the snake said.

The little prince gazed at him for a long time.

"You are a funny animal," he said at last. "You are no thicker than a finger..."

"But I am more powerful than the finger of a king," said the snake.

The little prince smiled.

"You are not very powerful. You haven't even any feet. You cannot even travel..."

"I can carry you farther than any ship could take you," said the snake.

He twined himself around the little prince's ankle, like a golden bracelet.

"Whomever I touch, I send back to the earth from whence he came," the snake spoke again.
"But you are innocent and true, and you come from a star..."

The little prince made no reply.

"You move me to pity-- you are so weak on this Earth made of granite," the snake said. "I can help you, some day, if you grow too homesick for your own planet. I can--"

"Oh! I understand you very well," said the little prince. "But why do you always speak in riddles?"

"I solve them all," said the snake.

And they were both silent.

blind.

lerin stopped to ask her if she needed help with her groceries.

i hadn't noticed. i hadn't noticed the brown oldsmobile, its trunk full of plastic bags. i hadn't noticed the lady, elderly, tired, breathing a little unsteadily.

we carried her groceries into her living room and left them. she saw us out, and told us we had made her day.

i would have walked right by.
why hadn't i noticed?
we were walking. i was talking. what about, i can't remember.
probably myself. i do a lot of that.

i'm glad that lerin's eyes were open. she saw a need and met it.

there have been times when i have too. and each time i am receptive to the whisper, something blooms inside of me.

but it doesn't happen often. walking home i thought about what paul really meant when he praised a quiet spirit.
maybe my spirit is too overwhelmed by the clamor i create myself.
i can't hear. i don't see.

how much will i be awakened if i let myself be still.

rain.

in seattle i feel as though i'm always waiting for the other foot to drop.

this afternoon the clouds were so heavy they seemed to absorb even the sunlight above them, rolling it around inside themselves and releasing it, battered and bruised, to tinge the air with a kind of sickly pallor. if we'd been in kansas it would have been tornado weather.

now the droplets are spattering against my window with a force that reminds me of the way a driving ocean gale tosses sand across a beach.

and for some reason, i am frightened.
it's the things i find beautiful that frighten me the most.