I am haunted by bare paper with no words written, by land not plowed or tended, by people not living lives with more in them than food in belly and shelter overhead. It is not my soil to make fertile or my paper on which to create a cry -- But it sticks in the mind that there are responsibilities concerning people: to somehow help, to point direction, to say there is food to be used by the spirit as well as bread to fatten bodies.

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