I see you in the garden among the roses, your hands, like your father's hands, sun-browned and gentle as they prop a blossom, nourish a drooping plant and think, that like Anteus, the earth his mother, you too grow stronger as you touch the earth. Perhaps each has an element, a dimension, an area where everything makes sense. For some it may be mountains, sea or sky, while others, like the saints of ancient times, find their peace in deserts. I see you in the garden and think once more, for each there is a place where, when it is found, the ragtail odds and ends of amorphous dreams, unfinished thoughts may fuse and come together to shape a pattern, form and limn an outline sealed and signed by him.

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