I'd like to leave for the stars from Iceland,
There where they gleam in purple and gold,
In green and orange, and all gorgeous colors,
And the Northern Lights their beauties unfold
Under the eyes of Venus and Mars,
From the Northern Isle, I would leave for the stars.
LOOSE ENDS
by JEAN REEDY
Ada Webster had a feeling of buoyance as she moved away from her body. Sights and sounds were crystal clear. Each mote in the shaft of sunlight, falling through the window pane, was sharply defined. Sounds of the small city came acutely to her ears. Sounds of laughter and talk and moving cars and busses. And closer, the rustle of a nurse's starched uniform, the soft closing of a door as she went out.
In the room, quiet sobbing.