It’s there in the newborn cry. There in the light of every sunrise. There in the shadows of this life. Your great grace. . It’s there on the mountaintop. There in the everyday and the mundane.
Softly, in the evening dusk, a woman is singing to me;. She takes me back down the vista of my years, until I see. I see a child underneath the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings. Pressing