This poem was composed by Abigail Woolley and read during our communion time last week. It seems fitting that we have to reflect upon further. Thanks for sharing Abigail!You come to know slowly what it is for the clear mystical blood of a grass blade to surge along its striped veins— in the same green blade that gleams with all the sunlight of a day in a sudden silver spark. It is like, you know, the blades of a railroad track being unsheathed and laid along the prairie surface, stake-sealed, tie by tie, Touching the earth, close and even, and miles on end, like a long jaw clenched in predictable, perfect contact with the upper teeth. An atom is not more finite than the universe, and these two Venn specks each comprehend the same expansiveness. Still, imagine the years of travel it would take to get from the sun to its beam, the body to the pancreas, or the melon to the molecule. I wish you welcome to the road between (you, years along already) welcome to the eye of the needle, the pupil of the eye, the mountain lake that is entered so easily by the otter and the bedrock beneath it which the miner has been blasting since his boyhood. Feel the tug of the faithful thread that courses from the crust of all things to the core. Centuries hum down the uneventful thread, then lightning strikes, comes and runs from heaven to your hand turned up and crystallizes in the form of a breadcrumb.