Oh, the deep; the very, very deep things of our hearts. The ecstasy of pain that knows no name, the joys of meaning that can fill our being. Our hearts’ raptures can be as full as the moon and as there as a handful of air. Meaning is everything. As the sky is blue, so is meaning, the color of our being. We name its house, heart, but who can place the blue of the sky in our heart? Our heart is the treasure box of our meaning, filled with trinkets of stars, baubles of God, lost jewels from heaven. Oh, the tender, aching, deep, deep things of our hearts.
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| A deer swimming from our yard to Long Island. |
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