Beachglass Excerpt:
A Moment of Clarity (page 241)

Because there is nothing logical about smelling plaster or placing your palm flat against a eucalyptus trunk thirty feet in the air, nothing logical about the times in your life when you let invisible beings pull you out of your home and down into the darkroom of a neighbor. It is times like those that we drop quietly to our knees and trace the shape of honeycomb tiles with our fingers, we smile at windowpanes and empty bookshelves, we don orange boas, we laugh with milk moustaches and dream of flying, we hear the voices of dead women clear as bells and swim naked in the ocean, because the pull is like the tide, like a child’s hand, tiny but so very strong, insistent, pulling, dragging, c’mon—and all we can do is throw our heads back and laugh and drop to our knees again, this time crying with joy and wonder, our involuntary soul-voice pushing the words from our lips: Thank you, thank you.