"There were words in excessiveness when we sat in church. All those thous and thees and manifestation. Now there's a doozy for you. I even knew when I was little that their words were falsely weighted, that god was not a bellower, but light as motes of dust, that there wasn't a definitive god but god spirits living in everything I saw around me. In the wind, the snow, the soft earthly curves of the prairie stretching ever eastward. The sound of crickets thrumming, the whistles of gophers in the warmish spring and the shrieks of redtails swirling high above me. The gods would never linger in pews stinking with selfish guilt, with all those wads of gum."
Chorus of Mushrooms by Hiromi Goto

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