Dawn comes, I am expectant at the dew. Night falls, I worry over the rustle I hear at the edge of camp. Repeat, repeat.
My mood, so changeable — does the dawn cause my elation, dusk my woe? Or is the engine of caprice within?
You are there before the mountains, Lord, and after they crumble to dust and the sea sweeps them away. My inner life, a small piece of a small piece of time. Let my moods get lost and swept away by your scope.
(Letter #3,199)
Daily Letters to God 
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