We are learning rapidly that there is no âawayâ to throw things â whether it is nuclear waste, mounds of plasticâ¦or human beings we donât know how to deal with. We have to learn, somehow, to deal with it all.
HAD I the heavensâ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.
Faith can be a sickle too, and it can cut the vines that continuously impede my growth and suffocate. There is much work to do in tending such a seed. Cleaning, weeding, pest control, over extending metaphor control. But it is very worth the work to tend such a perfect and beautiful potential.