Tuesday, December 17, 2019

I have so little to bring, like a child displaying bits of string and sticks collected in the woods. Facing the stiff mountain wind, these possessions avail nothing. Blow them out of my hand, let me stand naked and needy before you.

When you will have saved me, at day’s end, let me later tell my neighbors of the wonder of my rescue.

Today is perfect to depend utterly on you. What a story I will tell.

(Letter #1,802)