Thoughts for a Thursday The violets of a vanished time I unexpectedly find blooming again on the edge of a parking lot in the heart of the city. Light from the dying sun lies gently on the panes of tall buildings infusing into the late afternoon a mellow glow, suited for quiet contemplation or tender remembrance. Holding violets in my hand I wait in stillness: this sense of deja vu and the inviolate afternoon will pass. Harlequin lights will interrupt lambent rays of the moon. Stars will emerge distant, aloof. We all wheel on through the abyss of space. Violets in hand I turn away, set upon by remembered grace. —Audrey J. Morrison Imagine a Day given over to hunting morels in warm moist April woods imagine hours spent stalking brown phalluses sculpted from sea sponges by erotic artists and scattered over east-facing Kentucky hillsides in the dark hours of spring nights from low flying helicopters imagine spotting the porous mushroom heads amid the parchment of yesterday's leaves —Lois Kleffman 66 ...