The spirit of life, which hath its dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart - Dante
Perhaps as a blue lake holds the eye accountable to its borders, what we experience of the world is first routed through the heart. The heart, which possesses the same neurons as the brain, stores memories, of which I could tell you wonders. My sweetest loves speak to me there as delicate traces of the past dislodge and sparkle deep within the dark oozy liquid that radiates to all points well beyond the fingertips of my extended palm.
Maybe somewhere between the tall silo and the shed, you held your hands out to us and we, as if invited and could choose, fell into its vortex of galaxies and swimming stars. Strange murmurs of the voices of our past entwined with songs of children yet born. We heard in a new language, and we knew for that moment that the world would go on because of your beating heart and your blood that you freely gave to us, your blood that is everywhere in the smells of the milking room, sweet, thick, and warm from the sun and putrid as the decayed souls that linger in the hay.