And how did it make you feel? Rachael smiled. Oh, silly stuff. Some poetry, some short stories. Nothing really. I kept a journal for years. It always ...almed me. Made me feel at peace, you know? Well, silly me, of course you would know. Brain smiled back and asked, If it made you feel good, why dont you still write? Rachael became very quiet. I stopped when my husband died. I just didnt seem to have anything to say. Brian leaned forward and placed his hand on hers. Have you ever written about. Unthinking, I used the water left to put out the fire and, as a consequence, filled the shelter with smelly steam.By mutual unspoke agreement we quickly made our drink and headed to the top of the hill to drink them. The sight of the valley and trees in the early morning sun was unbelievably settling and beautiful and made one glad to be alive. We chatted and sipped and some time had passed before we returned to the shelter, where the steam had dissipated and the rocks had cooled enough to. More

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