02:23 pm - Now what? Leave a comment with a random fact, or a passage from your favorite book, or a favorite poem, or song lyrics, or picture, or quote or even a special memory of yours. Once you've done that then copy and paste this in your own LJ.
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain; then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales console the lodger looking out across a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls a child's name as though they named their loss.
