Jan 31, 2021-- "In 1945, a child too young for school, I wandered from Grandma's porch and a short distance away, found one of those little creeks that would be my playground for the next few years. Here I formed my first friendship." Thus begins this writer's meditation on the deep, and often overlooked, joy of water and its essential place in life. As she observes, the aging process has a way of deepening our sensitivity to the eternal..." (2811 reads)
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I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.
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