He reads to the kids most nights,
And reads to me in the others.
His morning smile is bright as sunflowers.
He never said “I’ll wait for you”
Because he was busy saying
“I’ll wait with you.”
Sometimes he comes in the kitchen,
Coolant-covered grin clean as
The car he’s fixing.
He’s more often on his knees,
Eyes closed,
Than on his feet,
Arms crossed.
He never says “I told you so”
Because he’s busy saying
“I see your side.”
He finds a friend in every
Stranger.
He sees Jesus in all

Prologue
My son is making me do this. There he sits now, his arms crossed and looking as if he knows what is best for me. He looks just like his father, the exact same scowl.
I told him I was all right, and that he did not have to worry about my sanity. However, the words went in one ear and out the other. He says he knows I have been crying in my sleep, sometimes screaming ever since my husband passed away. He thinks putting the nightmares and memories that haunt me onto parchment and physically putting them away will ease my mind. He acts like it is a way to forget them.

“Father?”

Note: A thing, or þing, is a governing assembly. The Icelandic parliament, usually credited with being the oldest in the world, is called the Althing or, in Icelandic, the Alþingi. 

'Who has struck me?’ cried the robber
Pulling Thorstein up beside him
Gripping him with grasp of iron
Hard against the blood-stained bed-board.

'I am Thorstein son of Ketil,'
Spoke brave Thorstein knowing surely
This man’s strength could hurl him deathward,
Make two lie in one great grave-bed.

It was a gray, rainy Wednesday morning when Amanda came to my apartment to help make sure I was ready to go—she being a seasoned traveler, and me having never been out of the country before. I had been up for hours already, unable to sleep, and had packed and re-packed my backpack at least half a dozen times. I’m one of those people who needs very little in reality and yet, when faced with the prospect of travel, feels compelled to pack everything I own, just in case; not an ideal compulsion to have when you’re about to embark on a backpacks-only trip.

A group of friends out to dinner pick up their phones and begin texting instead of conversing with each other. The driver of the car next to you sneaks furtive glances at his phone while at a red traffic light—or even begins furiously typing away. While at the workplace, employees check their smartphones every few hours—or every few minutes—hampering their ability to complete their tasks. Perhaps you’ve witnessed such scenarios occurring. Perhaps you’ve been the guilty party.

Alright, trying to bang out the last 2-3 chapters... excuse this if it's not very good. Also excuse the fact that I left the technical details of the relationship issues vague. <3 Sarah

* * *

When Daniel and I returned from Cape Cod, I put him on the train to Boston, where he met our friend Ruby. Together they drove to New York for two days.

I always used to admire the Olympic divers. I watched on TV how they stood at the edge of a gigantic diving board, then sprung and jumped, twisting and flipping all the way down. Their acrobatics were amazing. And right as they hit the water, they would be straight as a pencil, barely making a splash. I thought it was cool, and also extremely dangerous. Diving held such a fascination for me. I thought it would be neat, and a little scary to dive on such a board. But I found out pretty soon that diving isn't just dangerous when you're several feet up in the air.

By the time Jules woke up Saturday morning, she had made up her mind. She did not waste much time carrying her plan out. She had eaten her lunch and Duncan had fallen asleep for his afternoon nap. She gathered up her phone and headphones and headed out the door for her daily walk. The spring air was crisp and clean, and felt almost dewy, regardless of the bright sun shining down.

Shrouded is the moon tonight,
The starlight bides its time;
A solitary bat takes flight,
Seeking better clime.

The trees, they shiver restlessly
Awaiting things unknown.
The grasses ripple fitfully;
Earth shudders to her bone.

No cricket song, no croaking frog,
The night bird's call is still;
The very dark enwrapped by fog,
Subject to darker will.

A heavy stillness mutes the air,
The wind now holds its breath;
An unseen power~fey or fair?~
Has forced it still as death.