and then our exile

Sunday, September 11, 2005 at 8:48 p.m.
i stepped outside to a treeline touched with fire and with gold, yet-green autumn leaves tinged with otherworldly brilliance, dark sky beyond. that every muted being were given voice, as the setting sun painted the edges of this world.
(^ not actually the sun which painted but God Who painted, but.)
this afternoon i spent some time splitting logs for firewood.
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