Grace and Peace to you. How long shall I live? I asked. The brook flowed silently beneath me. Will my children be well? The bird sang and sang. The sun came up low through the trees as if reaching up for something. A nuthatch, head downward, worked a hickory trunk, considering the bark with care, one little peck at a time.
__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net