I was sad this morning remembering my parents and their decency–their respective losses. I sat beside the telephone waiting for a call in my overheated room. I put my face against the sun flecked window. I cried. In the damp house of my spirit with my seeing-eye dog looking on I felt like I was nothing more than a shadow on a silver knife. I opened my eyes to the glass which was white and flowing and charged with sun. My tongue, my debtor, my companion, had private words then.