The seasons go on in circles, whatever else may cease to be, one sure step after another— the weary, aching world, bearing the purpose for which she was made forward to the High King’s return, the inevitability of time.

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We’re layered, Lord, before Your face like bolts of cloth in folds of darker and of lighter shades. The sun bright side that people see and shake their head in wonderment at the shining, sun-flecked layers, made of light without a trace of shade. – We’re layered, Lord, before Your face, in bolts of unseen […]

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