Man dressed in blue plus bobble hat, gamely peddles up and down long winding farm road to a breathtakingly beautiful church in a place time has forgotten, he beats me by a mile.
Shinny undertakers shoes smart black coats, lovely man directing us toward the door. I linger we chat, A colorful encounter in an unexpected place.
Words float, like seeds from a dandelion clock at sunset, giving light and translucent form to a life lived with a smile.
Bit if that
I am standing upon the foreshore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength and I stand and watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to minge with each other. Then someone at my side says "There She's gone!, "Gone where?" "Gone from my sight, that is all." She is just as large of mast and spa and hull as ever she was when she left my side, just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me, not her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says "There! she's gone!" there are other eyes watching her comming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "here she comes!" And that is dying..
Victor Hugo (a passage often attributed to Bishop Brent)
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