The human heart is so delicate and sensitive that it always needs some tangible encouragement to prevent it from faltering in its labour.
It's still scary every time I go back to the past. Each morning, my heart catches. When I get there, I remember how the light was, where the draft was coming from, what odors were in the air. When I write, I get all the weeping out.
My heart is so heavy when I see the reality of the Indian reservation and as an American, I know I am, too, responsible.
