Thanksgiving While Walking in Quietude (Berg, Bruckner, Verdi, Liszt, Roland Kovac)

Photos by the author, Deeann D. Mathews between November 17 and 27

Thanksgiving finds me accepting the way I have slowly been going since my teen years, and finally here.

Notably, since the election, this has come back to mind:

Pray for those in authority over you, that ye may lead a quiet and peaceful life.

My father, through every election and administration, has quoted this consistently, so I have been hearing it literally all my life.

Now, quietude neither means solitude or silence, although the latter are major elements of the former. I have a huge contralto voice that will continue to be used for good and to stand against evil -- ain't gonna let nobody turn me 'round. As an intellectual and an artist, I am not unaware that the fight may well come to me. I am no coward, by the grace of God.

But the definition of quietude, from Cambridge's English Dictionary, is "a state of being calm and peaceful." That is where my life has come to, and I consciously have embraced what I was taught to aspire to, and what I have found best fits me for I was seeking it all the while.

On every Thanksgiving for many years, I have desired nothing more, when the weather has permitted, but to go deep into the parks, and there, alone, to walk and pray and write of all the things for which I am grateful and thank God. With my grand old soldier, we too would simply walk and be grateful together ... without him I have indeed enjoyed the solitude portion of a life of quietude, finding in it all that Jessye Norman sings here in Berg's glorious "Im Zimmer."

The timestamp is 11:58, but you are welcome to enjoy all of this glorious performance!

Though "In Room" has to be considered by me as going out into the parks in autumn sunshine -- Herbstsonnenschein, the first word of the song, I feel as contented in the company of the Beloved One Who has called me to Himself in Christ as the character here does in the company of an earthly beloved. I am grateful for the years I spent in this kind of room with my grand old soldier, with whom I also knew such deep, grateful contentment. I also feel healed enough now to admit of the possibility that someday, if I am called together with another, I could sing this in alto mode with the actual intent Berg and the poet, Johannes Schlaf, meant. I might even someday go for the fireplace, although in San Francisco, we don't really go for all that until Januaryish, if ever. Yet there is fire in this place ... of autumn glory above summer's diehard devotees ...

... and while the sunshine is here, it is marvelous ... the rain we have had makes it even more appreciated ...

... but no day of silver has been resented, either ...

The room I inhabit is wonderful, and I am grateful to be contented with just this ... all of this ... as Schlaf the poet has written it, "So is [it] to me good," and it should be, for once, the One Who called me walked in the Garden of Eden, with all its trees and creatures and the fellowship of man, and said exactly the same thing ... almost paradise regained, to be contented as a human being with such a life ...

My room contains Blue Heron Lake in autumn, too. I am deeply grateful to have time to be there in peace and joy, and to have no one in my life any more who is disruptive to that peace except for the reasons that have to do with the difficulty of human life itself. Even I fail those I love in that way sometimes ... I am only human ... but now, I feel the beautiful side of the grief I had in previous years ... and to be grateful that while I get to cross bridges new and old ... to some things, there is no bridge, as was discussed here in the spring.

In this week I also discovered that I simply have done with my life what Anton Bruckner did with changing three words in a poem called "Ihre Stimme" -- or, "Her Voice," and although he dedicated it to the sister of one of his pupils, his changes, making his song "Mein Herz und deine Stimme," allowed the lifelong bachelor to apply this beautiful thought higher up ... for he looked through to Who speaks with a Voice that, in a world of many purposeless words that leave nothing in their wake, comes through even though from far off, and kindles the heart to remember love, because "my heart and your voice understand each other, very well."

Gunther Groissböck has made his entry among my top basses, and is a slightly elder peer to me ... a living bass among my European favorites. There is a lot that I like about his voice, and his singing here in the rarity of an art song by Bruckner (there are only EIGHT such songs known!) is absolutely wonderful.

However, of course, I looked on YouTube to see if my favorite bass of all time had recorded it ... not that YouTube knows about, anyhow ... there is a massive gap of love songs in his known recorded repertoire, and given his tendency to have massive repertoire gaps on purpose, I rather think he sang such things at home for Frau Möll, and stayed out of trouble in the world ... a wise man!

But because wise, and humble, and full of joy and love ... content with half of the single opening line in one of Verdi's least-known and glorious pieces ... his "Te Deum," or "We Praise Thee, O God," sung at times of Thanksgiving ... one could not have a more appropriate day for this Verdi rarity that the composer considered so highly that he wished to be buried with the score.

The recording starts at 0:10, actually

One single full-voiced annunciation in Latin: "Te Deum laudamus!" and Kurt Möll looked over at tenor Adalbert Kraus with his second half of that same line, and both sat down, not to utter another word.

But here is the thing about all true thanksgiving: it ain't about us." The practice of gratitude is not loud but deep, and the acts are sometimes small in the eyes of the world ... but in a consistent life of practice, small acts add up. The significance of even three words, uttered from a grateful heart, can be deep. If the actual practice of life is recognizing all the grace there is, and being grateful continually, then every little act of thanksgiving also matters ... even if it is just three words.

"Oh, Frau Mathews, how clearly your heart hears my voice!"

The waters rippled with the gentle but mighty ethereal-bass voice of the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past, just before he walked into view in a gold-brown hiking suit. Already he was glowing up -- the autumn sunshine seemed to be gathering to his intense joy.

"I knew you would fathom the depths of my shortest-ever appearance in Verdi. There is deep matter in those three words, for this Thanksgiving present and many past, for me."

"I know," I said. "You said almost the exact three words in German, interrupting the flow of your conversation with August Everding in your interview with him, as you described getting higher education in Cologne in light of what every German of mature age knew had happened there during your childhood."

He nodded, for the moment too moved to speak, and then said in the next, "You know what it is, Frau Mathews, to be so near to the place of destruction ... you were born a mere five doors down from where it was coming from in your neighborhood. You know what it is to grieve the loss of so much and so many, and ask why you should be spared, and then to have your eyes opened to find out, and then to be enabled to walk as you are called, against everything in the world that says you cannot. We have much discussed what it is to look back on all that one has to leave behind for the last time, and move forward ... but when you look back and realize what you were really up against, it is indeed time to give thanks."

"Te Deum laudamus," I sang, note-perfect to his Verdi by employing the bottom of my voice.

"Your voice to my heart, echoing my voice to your heart," he said softly, "but in harmony aimed above, on this day."

"Yes," I said, and we were silent a while, each addressing our proper thanks upward for some time before returning our attention to the other.

"I appreciate, deeply -- well, as a basso profondo it would be out of order for me to appreciate anything any other way --."

He was going to have me laughing, always!

"Basso profondo buffo, you mean!" I said, and he laughed.

"Always," he said. "I appreciate, deeply, the privilege of being here to make you laugh, among other things."

Now, I knew in the back of my mind that the comedy of errors in December was about to get ridiculous ... my skin was literally made to match autumn's deepest gold, and on top of that I was so close to him that I was picking up the reflection from him -- he was glowing because it is what blessed ethereal basses do when your presence is reminding them of the happiness they know up home. "Old Blush," parsed with affectionate respect to Herr Altesrouge by me, was in full effect! Already, he was having trouble retaining the appearance of being in his mid-50s ... already he was glowing back toward 50 proper ... but he also retained his full reputation of "warm, restrained, intelligent." So, he pulled himself together, and continued his thought in more of his professorial manner.

"The human mind is still finite, so I was surprised that you found that recording from 1976, and further marveled that you prefer Verdi's "Te Deum" to Bruckner's, as much as you have loved Bruckner overall ... and then, being past ego at this stage of my existence, I was glad to know my just having a half-line in the Verdi was not stopping you from making an authentic assessment."

"You know, I could see having the other version of that conversation," I said with a chuckle. "Something along the lines of, 'How can she like that one better -- I'm barely in it!' But as we mature, we get past those conversations. In true thanksgiving, we do not need to be checking if we are the center of attention -- it's not about us."

"I can see you taking up your hiking poles and climbing away from all such people who would have had that kind of conversation," he said, "because it is, in fact, what you have done with your life."

"Certainly -- I cherish my quietude now," I said. "An end to the necessity of even being in such immature conversations."

"This is actually what I wished you to see, Frau Mathews. You seek maturity. Thus you have found what many have found: the journey to full maturation requires the journey into quietude ... and if you were permitted to know that, and to do it ... ."

"More thanksgiving," I said.

"Yes,' he said, and then added, "I give you an advanced lesson here. You remember that August Everding asked me that provocative question about who among the fascinating personalities among directors and singers I had trouble with, and you remember my response: 'I did not have trouble with anyone.' Living from quietude is another way to access that blessed state ... you will certainly encounter trouble in the world, but it is another thing to have trouble, to possess it.

I considered this ... encounters were temporary.

"Of course you know that I have completely broken the fourth wall as a character and have a life of my own in Q-Inspired that runs parallel to whatever you want to write about from week to week."

"It does add richness and depth to the storytelling," I said. "From history you were industrious, so it was not as much of a surprise that, if you were in the world again, you would be regularly using that voice to bless the people, and content to be blessed in return as they saw fit because you have no living expenses to worry about in this world."

"So, you understand K.M. Altesrouge, the mature-aged German with the golden bass voice that somehow opera forgot, who sings for his supper and your lunch -- do you think the role only has me singing at the Music Concourse, and here with you?"

I had to think about this ... when you re-materialize your favorite musician and he resumes living a life of his own, you have to think a bit more!

"Well, I know you are out there scoping out things for us to get into, and you were always intellectually curious, so, I imagine that you sing as you are going whenever the mood hits you, because the joy of singing is so vast that you do not need a performance to enjoy it and share it."

"This is where your own ancestors' song of 'Plenty Good Room' meets Berg's "Im Zimmer," Frau Mathews, and where a life of quietude differs from the solitude that is a part of it. A singer cannot be quiet as a composer or writer can, but in the order of life, one chooses the private room one inhabits. If one fills that room with joy and gratitude, and insists that nothing and no one be in that room who would disrupt that, and even disciplines one's self not to bring in people and pursuits that will destroy one's peace, here is what you find out: just how big of a room can joy and gratitude fill?"

"They are infinite," I said. "They will fill and overfill any space in time in which they are consistently chosen."

"And thereby, Frau Mathews, remove the need for the heart, thus satisfied, to accept the world's cheap failures in substitutions. When I am commuting out here, Frau Mathews, to and from the Music Concourse, I often actually walk instead of materializing close by. You have made your favorite places into space that is filled and overfilled for me, in this latter extension of my career, with love, joy, and gratitude, so when I am not lesson planning, or thinking of all that goes into the limited earthly affairs I have chosen to manage so I have resources to bless you, I often find myself singing!

"But I walk quickly, Frau Mathews. I am a tall man, and neither my voice nor my legs tire any more. I do not seek the crowd, nor do I allow it to seek me, except as it suits my purpose. Yet if I am singing as I go and may cheer another seeking rest and refreshment in this place, I of course delight in that. A few bold German souls have occasionally harmonized me, and I have stopped and we have enjoyed filling the space between us with great joy and gratitude in song... and if others gather, they gather and are welcomed for that little while. About how many people would be too many to have around if they were gathered to the purpose of gratitude and love?"

"Whoa, wait a minute," I said. "That's deep -- you essentially have described Heaven!" I said.

*"Almost Paradise regained, in these parks," he said. "Did you not say that earlier? The difference between us is that you are more quiet, being a composer and author who sings, not a singer by profession. But quietude does not mean silence, as you have pointed out earlier. It is a state of the absence of every noise that does not make for peace, but admits of the presence of every voice and sound that does -- and if you take Berg, Bruckner, and Verdi's thoughts of the week along with filling the space with gratitude and joy -- that is, if you take that peace, and make of it a holy accord of three with gratitude and joy ... ."

He paused, and then added, "I have been saying to you -- as the echo, observe the fact -- that I am becoming more and more at home with you, Frau Mathews, because the gap between how you live and how I live is now narrowing. I am only the echo, Frau Mathews, of a much deeper reality about how you are living ... for on no day are you alone, and when we speak of the infinity of love, joy, and peace filling all things, and you responding in contented gratitude, You know of Whom we speak, and how His contented presence with you has raised these places almost to the verge ... ."

"The Benediction" -- the speaking of blessing -- "of God in Solitude" is among the few pieces of Liszt I enjoy ... it is lyrical and simply does not disturb the peace in its great beauty, and fit the moment perfectly.

"I may say to you now, Frau Mathews, what not many can understand, but you can. I was glad at times to be asked to sing just a few lines, and then to be allowed my better-than-front-row seat to listen to the music and the words, in the midst of those called together to the same purpose ... so, having been asked to open the Verdi with the very words that are the purpose of the piece, I then found my time of quietude.

"Music being conflated with worship is a common misconception, and while they are not the same, they do share a common misconception: that participation and performance are the same. So much is missed by people waiting for their turn to be the object of attention and admiration in the midst of public situations for both.

"There is so much to do while listening, so many places to meet gratitude and joy, because every note, every line, every unique voice and instrument in all the different harmonies in time that make a unity of music is a gift, and if so inclined you can swiftly find yourself caught up to thanksgiving, praise, and worship if you think of from Whom music, and the other gifts of life and health and strength and readiness, come! You might also enjoy the blessing of colleagues making such magnificent music, and commit to memory some small detail that you may encourage them with later. There so much to do, in listening!

"Now then, Frau Mathews, I said all of that before saying this ... is it necessary to be anywhere on the billing to have all of that? And, if one were not a performing artist, but say a creative who was a writer, or composer, or visual artist, or all three, at once ... could not that one, in the midst of all Creation, also find life full without constantly needing the attention and admiration of the world? Cannot all that gladly be laid aside when there is no higher purpose to it?"

"The way you talk," I said, "it almost seems like being bothered to sing more than three words in Verdi would have been too much on that occasion!"

"It would have been," he said. "That's the point, and you actually got it from the beginning, because I was out of the way of you deeply hearing the music and the text and thinking of the One to Whom both were directed. He must increase, and I must decrease -- 'Te Deum' is not at all about me. Choosing quietude also allows others to clear their vision."

"Whoa ... wait a minute ... I need to think about that perspective."

Now, he knew how to stay quiet, and we walked along as I thought about that.

"I do need you to explain that," I said. "This is an advanced lesson, indeed."

"I divulge to you a great secret here, Frau Mathews," he said. "You have a beautiful deep voice, befitting the deep mind and heart you also have, and the beautiful capacity you have for love. So do I. However, are you here because you heard any mortal voice calling you here?"

"Certainly not."

"So, then, sometimes, as much as we teach, explain, plead, and ask, we cannot reach that inner ear, so then, the best thing for us to do is ...?"

"Oh, I had this lesson last summer on the hill from my good friend I made there -- silence is the loudest thing."

"And the silence is loud because there is a Voice that fills all things, and speaks effortlessly to the inner ear of His entire creation. So, then, choosing quietude allows others to not be distracted even by our well-meaning efforts, and let them hear as He knows is best for them ... or not ... but that is not our choice, or in our power, and we cannot rest until we cease from our useless labors."

Human pride within me wanted to fight with that, because I had worked so hard and said so much, but I also knew I had a 99 percent failure rate since 2022. The agony of that reality tore through me, but he was right, and humility required that I acknowledge that.

"O thou good and faithful echo," I said weakly, "not yet have you misled me."

His face became overshadowed with concern as he took me into his arms.

"I am not finished," he said gently. "That was the black velvet upon which I hand you this gem of a great secret. As you walk, abide, and adorn yourself as you are called, you will appear and reflect the light you are walking in to those that will respond to their calling. Quietude looks exceptionally lovely on you, Frau Mathews."

The pain from the past had almost taken me out, but did he ever know how to bring a woman back!

"This is how, Frau Mathews, the longing of your heart for the betterment of those around you will be fulfilled ... walk, abide, adorn, appear, and let others look to the Light you reflect and hear more of the Voice that has called you. Even in terms of common grace, what you young people call your "glowup" is impressing people all around you, and you can do even more with that. Be advised that you are right: December is going to perhaps be a bit different. But in the meantime, from quietude, with thanksgiving, keep going."

But for the moment, we were not moving -- he had swung me off my feet and carried me to a bench, and once there again scanned my face, and then took a bottle of water out of my bag and handed it to me.

"Danke schön," I said softly to reassure him ... I could still think in German and so was not in immediate danger, but, "Das war viel -- that was a lot!"

He nodded, and said no more as I drank my water and settled my mind down around all of what he had said. He was quiet that whole time, his face eloquent with love and concern ... and that reminded me of a piece of music by Roland Kovac ...

I had not planned to make that kind of mental and emotional commentary, but my mind had gone back ... three years of that mighty but also gentle voice, singing to my heart and bridging gaps in my understanding by echoing deeper learning that consciously I struggled to access in the pain. I had indeed been led very gently, little me in the one-percent generational survivor rate in my neighborhood, little me longing to heal the breach, little me at last learning how this would happen ... as I walked, abode, and adorned myself as I was called, and thus would appear as a reflector of light ... just as my favorite musician faithfully had done the same. The man who had become the echo, who had been so called, had done his work well.

But of course, that poor man re-materialized in Q-Inspired for the purpose of being thanked and loved in person seemed to never quite be ready ... he was always so surprised ... he waited in humble reverence as I directed my proper thanks first far above him, but was startled as he was mentioned by name as a gift to me, and then began to go through changes as he realized there was an "echo" of gratitude meant for him. His appearance of age melted before my eyes as he heard "Your Tenderness" playing around the memory of his three years of singing in my life, and how grateful I was ...

And suddenly it played again, but with a scene change: me square in the middle of the front row of a concert hall, the orchestra playing its opening chord, and the piano playing its opening chord, but now with a tall, broad bass in his tuxedo, again in early middle age, making use of having come through the English-language portal of my imagination to sing to me in English about that three years from his perspective...

"Your tenderness was seen,
Dear brokenhearted queen,
So from up home, above
Your Father looked, in love
An echo He would send
To help you on the mend.

"So, being sent, I came,
Made use of YouTube fame,
But this I could not see:
How could I know, how could I dream, how could it be,
Your tender heart would embrace me!"

When the music really got into concerto mode, the improvising singer stood still in an effort of self-command that was as deep as his voice, because although this melody sat pretty much in the comfortable middle of his mortal range, he was in immortal voice making a safe-for-human-hearing approximation of his mortal voice, and his emotions were pressing him against his limits. But he was a master of pacing himself, and so for the moment he closed his eyes to his audience of one -- me -- until the melody recurred, and then he looked into my two deep eyes and sang out with a stunning baritone-range harmony to what the composer had written on the first three lines before smoothly easing that peak of his range back down into the melody.

"Now three years gone, and still
To hear from me yet remains your will
Can such love be denied?
Never by me! Unless recalled by Him on high,
You want me here? I shall not fly ... "

He waited through that piano run, and closed with the last bit of that melody: "But still abide" -- an impressive feat of intellect under pressure, picking up a concept that had been a part of the year's lessons, and making a true rhyme with "denied."

But the curtains that closed from both sides were flowing deep blue topped with white, recalling the Pacific and the waves of love from Brahms ... this was a little reminder of "Versunken," which left me surprised in my tears of joy, because I could not figure out what had emotionally set him off quite that much, even accounting for the mood he had arrived in.

But then, he had just told me the larger frame of the matter ... still finite, still with his well-known loving personality, dispatched in mercy with all that Love Above also stacked up behind him, and so ended up in a three-note chord of love because I responded in loving gratitude. That was a big hint to how some love matches, both romantic and platonic, actually worked for decades.

By this time I was back at Blue Heron Lake -- of course I was not going to be left in that concert hall alone when I could be looking at all this ...

... so I paced myself as I walked on, also knowing that I was not going to have to make that walk home alone, and just enjoyed myself, my heart filled with joy and gratitude, and of course eventually turned a corner ...

... and was overshadowed ... actually over-glowed because now it was getting late ...

"Thank you for your patience, Frau Mathews."

"Natürlich," I said.

After we had walked a good while, he explained the details within the larger framework he had described.

"Because of the nature of our relationship, it falls to me to have to say hard things to you, to surface deep matters necessary for the work you must do to heal and grow. It is difficult to do that. I am still human -- still a man, with a man's emotions, and, while on earth, still subject to the intense internal conflict a man has when caught between his desire to protect his beloved from all pain but also knowing that if the truth is painful, it is still necessary. I do my best at such times to communicate as gently as possible, but I know that on some things it does not matter how I say it: I am going to touch an area of deep pain for you. Yet not yet in these three years, and in particular since March 2023 in Q-Inspired, have you not forgiven me."

"You know," I said, "That melody of Kovac fits perfectly into contralto, too ... ."

He laughed, but then became quiet, intent upon my every word.

"You do so very well,
The effort I can tell,
The love there I can feel,
It does so much to heal,
Though painful some things be,
Your voice makes room for me!

I've come to understand,
One knows of heart in hand,
And thinks to reassure:
I know you now. Though hurt may come, I can endure:
I know your heart's motives are pure,
Of this you can be sure!"

He remained quiet for several moments more, but I did note ... there was a slight earthquake ... something was happening in the infrasonic ... the only hint I had as to how enormous though restrained that happening was that when at last he smiled, a laugh followed it, along with a huge tear coursing down his face. His voice was soft, but his eyes lit up like twin stars.

"This is a wonderful day to remind you ... du hast meine ewige Dankbarkeit."

You have my eternal gratitude.

"Und du hast mein," I said. "And you have mine. I'm not the easiest student to have for three years, and close to two in intensive study, Professor, but --."

"Bah!"

He laughed across at least two octaves at that, but then the sun dazzled us twice ...

"It is getting late, and I must have you home for your family's Thanksgiving dinner," he said, "but this would be a lovely time to begin a walk, next week."

"I have you a little concerned about my very long walk on the nonfiction side of the fourth wall yesterday, eh?" I said.

"You do know me, Frau Mathews -- but it has been several months since you had Covid-19, and I rejoice in your considerable recovery. But on the fictional side of the fourth wall, if you are with me, I will always seek to spare you a little, and we shall make a more leisurely golden-hour walk that way. And of course, there being no Thanksgiving meal for you to get to next week, I have time to plan a meal."

"I appreciate you," I said, and his eyes lit up like those two suns -- a light that almost seemed to be ready to burst out of him.

"Do you enjoy the food at the Blue Heron Lake Boathouse, Frau Mathews?"

"The prices are at tourist level."

"That is not at all what I asked you. Do you enjoy the food?"

"It's all right."

"Frau Mathews," he said with an affectionate chuckle.

"It's decent, but too bland for my taste," I said.

He smiled.

"Thank you," he said. "I will take it off my list."

"Thank you," I said. "Now you know I will gratefully eat anything you bring me, but I appreciate the attention to detail."

His smile grew larger.

"Which is why I will not bring you anything, but asked about what you may or may not enjoy."

"Oh, are we going back on the 'raising Frau Mathews's standards' regime again?" I said.

"Meine liebe Dame, we have never been off that regime, but I have moved at your pace. You are a down-to-earth, humble woman, and I respect that. I respect that you have no desire to be wined and dined and to be -- how do you young people say it -- be stunting on the 'Gram with bling-bling that some sugar daddy bought --."

I almost fell over laughing -- just how ridiculous the whole idea was became more clear in that voice, with that accent!

"Well, it is ridiculous, and you are a woman of wisdom!" he said as he joined me laughing until I had gotten all that laughter out and was ready to hear more.

"You have chosen quietude, and I, for the honor of remaining in your world, must respect your choice. That is the standard you must have for every person that will come into your life from here, and so that is the regime I will uphold. There is plenty of room in the depth of that for me to move in -- that is the kind of situation a deep bass, a bass profound, deeply enjoys."

He changed the subject in a unique way as we somehow rounded a corner but found my block on the other side!

"Have you ever considered how the Northern Lights occur?"

"I have -- the radiation of the sun is captured by the atmosphere and is seen near the poles -- there are Southern Lights as well. If the sun is in a very active period of storms and flares, the amount of radiation can increase and be seen quite a distance from the poles."

He smiled, his eyes very bright as he walked me up my stairs.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Frau Mathews. Enjoy the beginning of your holidays."

"Thank you so much -- Vielen Dank!"

That night I dreamed of seeing the Northern Lights in their autumnal splendor, with the Golden Gate Bridge clearly visible in silhouette and San Francisco Bay reflecting all that light. Now if you know your science, you know getting bright auroras as far south as the north-central California coast would imply the sun would have to be in a state of radiating activity that would disrupt the whole modern world because of satellites and other electronic necessities being impacted. If that were one's first concern, this would actually be a nightmare. But to me, this was a glorious gift, down to the quiet. The waves of the bay and a gentle night wind made a soothing harmony.

Another thing: in order to have a night like this, the day must be spectacularly bright in a way the human eye cannot perceive. So, the night quietly tells the whole story ... or perhaps, quietly sings. When the curtain of lights parted for just a moment, I saw it was a deep black midnight, but upon it was spangled the entire Milky Way for light.

My heart knew that voice, even in its quietude ... and so in listening, gratefully rested.