Carl kept me company with stories that filled the void of inventive fantasy my hopelessness had carved away.  While drawn to poetry and amateur astronomy, his job was teaching others how to build houses.  He described with intellectual curiosity the very bedrock that imprisoned me and how it would soon support shelter for a new family, a soothing reappraisal of my own encounter with the earth. 

Unable to pull me out physically, he drew me out in conversation.  "Do you know any stories? Any good jokes?" he asked. I started to tell a long joke, but I got the details mixed up.
"Sorry, I forgot the rest," I admitted.
"Don't worry. Somewhere in heaven is a machine that gives you all the punch lines to all the jokes you only heard the first half of," he said. That, more than my mangled joke, made us both laugh.

Taking a breath just inches from the cave wall, I was suddenly aware of a pleasing scent, like crushed mint, sugar, and pears.

"Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness." ~ Rumi