Thursday, March 19, 2015

I drove my daughter to school today, and then turned toward home. The sun was just coming up over the mountains, surrounded by clouds. Oh my Light, a sign of my Beloved appearing!

I wish I could have captured with a camera, the cloud of glory rising, how I spied it again, gleaming between the splitting branches of a birch tree. It was the sun, and it was more than the sun.

And yet this was a sight which could not be caught by any gaze except that of the heart, a flower pressed between the pages of an eternal book, waiting eagerly for such a ray of morning. "White Aster! I am here!"

How long we have kept our secrets--and how much longer we shall keep them, only the sunset can guess.

when trees as gilded as bees

Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...

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