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There is an axiom in the forest, among the trees, that paper is the work of the devil;  and that the devil himself, carries a pen.

Nobel?

Referencing obscure pre-industrial poetry is pretentious, but it does seem to enable that esoteric feeling some crave, so here goes, a quote from the 13th century...

me thinks thou doest reek,
like the fish from a sea of death...
reeketh

-Heraculates  1211 A.D.


I read her that poem, written far away and long ago, while she lit a burner on her electric stove.

But she still didn't get the message.

Hmmmm, what's this?

I would like to mail you a butterfly.  To arrive in your mailbox.  A symbol of love, freedom, and the ephemeral nature of beauty.  But, I am afraid it would not survive the heat or cold of the closed mailbox awaiting your retrieval upon delivery. And, upon you opening the mailbox to find a dead butterfly, you may misinterpret my gesture as a threat, or unkind message, or simply as a bad idea, poorly executed, that ended sadly, almost tragic.

So I won't.

And that should be the end of this story. But it isn't, because this story is a metaphor for living life...and if I don't tell you that, you'll miss it. 

Just like I did.