I don't think anyone can grow unless [he's] loved exactly as [he] is now,
appreciated for what [he] is rather than what [he] will be.
~ Mr. Fred Rogers
Warm sun. My worship is a blue sky and 10,000 crickets in the deep wet hay of the field. My vow is the silence under their song. I admire the woodpecker and the dove in simple mathematics of flight. Together we study practical norms. The plowed and planted field is red as brick in the sun and says: "Now is my turn!" Several of us began to sing.