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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

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Zanzibar's Reading Room

A Late Summer's Night

The fire flies began their dance over the countryside.
With love in their veins, they left wandering trails of light across the meadow.
Back and forth they weaved, blinking slowly in and out.
It seemed as if they were there only to make the night more beautiful,
as if they had been summoned only so that I could see them
as I trailed my hand among the heads of the ripe wheat,
as its silky hair tickled my palm
and the grass swished between my bare toes.

The night was not dark, it was a deep blue lighted by the sorrowful white moon.

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