My mother used to sing a song:  Some men go to Heaven--While others find the ground--The world ain't no place for livin'--Unless you're in the clouds. Some men say they're crazy--While others say they're gods--We all work the earth, now--Wrestling against the odds... She had a lovely voice. Water beats against the black spikes jutting under the cliff. The sky paints in dark blue streaks, dotted with glittering stars. Dad says the night sky is a ball gown that only Mother Nature gets to wear. His hand clasps my shoulder. "I don't want you thinking what she thought," he tells me. He points Continue »