If you wold know....
a story is alive, as you and I are. it is rounded by muscle and sinew. rushed with blood. layered with skin, both rought and smooth. at its core lies soft marrow of hard, white bone. a story beats with the heart of every person who has ever straind ears to listen. on the breath of the story teller, it soars. until its images and deeds become so real you can see them in the air, shimmering like oases on the horizon line. a story can fly like a bee, so straight and swift you catch only the hum of its passing. or move so slowly it seems motionless, curled in upon its self like a snake in the sun. it can vanish like smoke before the wind. linger like perfume in the nose. change with every telling, yet always remain the same.
