I Don't Want To Hear About Them

It’s Only The Sea,’ Said Moomintroll. ‘every Wave That Dies On The Beach Sings A Little Song To A Shell. But You Mustn’t Go Inside Because It’s A Labyrinth And You May Never Come Out Again.

Christmas Always Rustled. It Rustled Every Time, Mysteriously, With Silver And Gold Paper, Tissue Paper And A Rich Abundance Of Shiny Paper, Decorating And Hiding Everything And Giving A Feeling Of Reckless Extravagance.

Grandmother Walked Up Over The Bare Granite And Thought About Birds In General. It Seemed To Her No Other Creature Had The Same Dramatic Capacity To Underline And Perfect Events - The Shifts In The Seasons And The Weather, The Changes That Run Through People Themselves.

Now Everything Was Changed. She Walked About With Cautious, Anxious Steps, Staring Constantly At The Ground, On The Lookout For Things That Crept And Crawled. Bushes Were Dangerous, And So Were Sea Grass And Rain Water. There Were Little Animals Everywhere. They Could Turn Up Between The Covers Of A Book, Flattened And Dead, For The Fact Is That Creeping Animals, Tattered Animals, And Dead Animals Are With Us All Our Lives, From Beginning To End. Grandmother Tried To Discuss This With Her, To No Avail. Irrational Terror Is So Hard To Deal With.

Maybe My Passion Is Nothing Special, But At Least It's Mine.