It moves, the stormy night. Shadows flicker and dance to the beating of raindrops on a tin roof. A wail rises from the wind in the eves and drafty windows sing a parody of native flute.

My eyes are weeping like the panes of glass, and it is done silently, almost un-noticed amidst the clutter of my current mindset. Sitting lightly on my cushion here on the one way track of my thoughts, an epiphany hits me like a freight train that I never saw coming…

There is no place that fits me.