Perhaps a miracle is the story of a single seashell, outer skeleton composed of crystals squeezed from blood knit in tight rows to form a single dark line of amazing strength that spirals back to the very moment it was born.
Or maybe a miracle is the mourning dove bathing under the lawn sprinkler’s spray this hot summer’s day as the hot air balloon of my daydreaming carries me across a constellation of shining flight that washes me in to shore and out to sea countless times in a single flicker of thought.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
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