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a critical instructive form from counsellor form question "Birds" sustain me strange as this may seem from memory their song as a child to troubled times when they seemed to have messages for me the way they fly abstract against a sky so closed off to people people walking talking driving standing touching in crowds but birds are something odd and that fills the oddness that I feel Feel I regard myself also as lost and I know I put myself there sometimes not always My fathers home still exists I have many vivid memories of many places people and have been held in many arms by mothers brothers caring and elsewhile like a burgundy wall in fall on a hill of trees empty hold up the violet sky for the yellow amber entrance of moon thats what people sound to me jumbled almost that poem its not that im deaf and cant hear the words i want to absorb read like braille in my mind but its confusing so I chose silence or just talk out not listen talk out like a radio transmitting no receiving random thoughts alone for the days for a few the computer hum no work no place directly to go too I think of you Joe searching like a mariner at the rail reading your barometer eyeing the sky soundings the water of the home port cool and dark Hudson River Atlantic further out think of those distant peoples who came to such a land such green land the sun is throwing patterns from shinning through the leaves on the blinds here going to be hot must go turn on the air conditioner i will be in a space ship then thinking of my own arms held by someone out there they are out there Joe they think of us as I think of you my freind just like now

He pours out his heart for us all to see and we understand why, so poignantly. This wishing for home and what is home? Is it not the central core and essence of love. Where we feel safe, feel good, feel happy. And when things go wrong in life and threaten those things, we react and cry out desperately for their reincarnation. Their illusive shape of hope and understanding is distorted, it needs the hands of a master potter to reshape its form again into the love it once was, to give solace to the fires of self doubt and sadness, fury and never ending pain. We all wish we could aspire to being that potter and to bear you through the kiln of your terrifying ordeals, and as Steven says:- as I think of you my freind just like now We do, and we will put together the feathers from our nests and make the wings of an eagle for you to fly with wherever you wish...Annuccia