" In these days of living in a dry land that wants fire, we need to find words, or burn.

'I dreamt of rain last night.'

Mai stood near my skin, on the bank of the American River, her flesh wet with simplicity. The scent of star thistle mixed with river mud. ' I met people in my dreams who had never known the inside of a lotus flower. Ever.' In the center of each word another word unfolded. Our ankles cold from the river. Her hands trembled. Bewildered fingers.

Be careful around those who claim to know the history of fire and yet remain unafraid of rain. "

― Doug Rice , between appear and disappear