If we hope to move beyond the superficialities of our culture, we must be willing to go down into the recreating silence, into the inner world of contemplation.
And suddenly, there it is, a loud whirring crashing into the silence: a field cricket singing in the fading light. We all stop to listen. From a distance, we must look like a strange bunch, leaning towards a bramble bush. For us, though, the moment is holy. A tiny, solitary creature has the power to lift our spirits.
