Flannery O’ Conner once suggested that anyone who has survived childhood has lived a lifetime of stories to tell. Life lurches by, one day by one day. One hour by one moment. The wind blows the leaves across the ground and you are once again waking up, different. Short stories, short collections of thought. Swirling around in your head until everything is dim. And that lack of light is what reveals the truths you search for within yourself. You want to be part of this bigger idea. But you are the only player. And there isn’t much of an audience. There is no scrimmage. No practice run. Just you, moving and spinning. Twirling. Around this field. Inaudible fans are hungry, you are poor. Poor with thoughts. What if thoughts were soup? Words. Letters. Noodles. Alphabet soup for the honest. You are alone. And you can only expect a word of encouragement. No one else will carry you one more step. But, do not lose your sense of wonder. Do not figure, when lost, that a simple wander will do. It may be easy to run, but you do not understand the direction. Pass the compass and backwards, you slide. Fall flat on your face. But do not lose your memories. You have a story to tell.