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.
Magic birds were dancing in the mystic marsh. The grass swayed with them, and the shallow waters, and the earth fluttered under them. The earth was dancing with the cranes, and the low sun, and the wind and sky.
