Stream of consciousness of early morning waking with the trepidation of the day. Of illegal immigrants and the forgiveness of a God we hope to hell is there and yet there is a bitterness towards the prodigal son.
It all ties in. Somehow, at a certain time in life, well into maturity beyond the silly putty thoughts of youth, it all is wondered at again, hoped for desperately, doubted. That’s when things begin to change and handholds carved by years are worn smooth by them instead. And life and death and people all have different meaning. Henderson knows this well.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology