Midnight in a tent, as in dreams, the range of worlds I will believe in expands. My senses take holiday from their daytime jobs and associations. The mating calls of bullfrogs can become the rumblings of a wandering bear. Wind riding over the tent lining is a wild horse trying to nose its way inside. A dewey, drooping pup-tent becomes a green womb, determined to birth me and Andrew Hirsch.



what is "yir-aht hashem"?