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As I am apt to do, I think about big picture life in quiet moments. Especially when I am in a pleasant environment around nature. I thought about what I wanted life to be, wished it would be, hoped it was underneath all of the overlays of existence. Its overwhelming to digest. Most people don’t do it. At least not until they feel the sand in the hourglass running out. My father was like that in his later years. He would talk to me differently than he had when I was a boy. He would mention words of wonder about the world, the power of religion in positive ways for troubled souls.

Dad wasn’t religious, but he became religious, as in a devotion to the wholeness in which he started viewing the world. I knew what he was going through, but as a teenager troubled by my own growing pains, I didn’t appreciate it. He died soon after my eighteenth birthday, and that is precisely when I started to first open my eyes to what he was seeing, how he felt. I thought about him and about that time, when I wrote the words below on a sloping green hillside under the sun. <MB

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