18 Feb 2005

The miracle is to feel, to know, that one is loved, when no one else is around. The miracle is when the memory of someone long gone wraps you in a waking dream — so clear, the vision, their words so present. The miracle is how the world of man persists, when all of us surely will die along the way, that something shared can prosper so, in an almost infinite way. The miracle was the day you were born, when something so new and unique was called into being, something never before seen, and which will never been seen again. The miracle is to understand something of another’s soul, the little things that stay with you — blessings handed you in casual passing. The miracle is to see with eyes that sight such miracles, and to deposit these little visions in your memories, to spend on some rainy day when the visibility drops, and nothing around you is clear.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:09 am

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