Moment Vanishing Elizabeth Spires Now, in the quietude of evening, the dove comes. It does not flash its feathers, does not make a sound, but feeds on what the finches leave behind. How little it needs. A few hard seeds. A drop of water. It is late summer. It is always late summer here. The … Continue reading Praying with Fringes 9/12/2015 – I would ask, O what will I become?