It could take a tribe to find the way back to what you love. A day's wandering could become a season, then another. At times it may all signal chaos. But take heart. Sometimes there is intelligence even in the crumbling of things.
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Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain; then a man will stand stack- still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train. Pray for us now.