The deep spaces between stars, Fathomless as the cold shadow His mind cast. - R. S. Thomas

Life is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

Deliver me from the long drought of the mind. Let leaves from the deciduous Cross fall on us, washing us clean, turning our autumn to gold by the affluence of their fountain.

I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.