It's 4-o'clock in the morning, and I am staring at the ceiling plaster: a movie screen of all my days that came and left with grace. It's Halloween, and the smell of burning pumpkin takes me back through all the people I have dressed up as to tell myself I have a pretty soul. And I give thanks to my youthful days of grass-stained knees and trick-or-treat face. I pray I'll find as innocent a place when I am 88. And I give thanks to my present day. It just got here, so please don't go away. I finally see it's what I choose to make, and I choose to make it into gold. And it is so wonderful and beautiful.