Does the act of creation have beginning or end? I think not, for even the stars are still being sown. Galaxy upon galaxy. Universe beyond. Seed in your palm. Love. And in the park, when you give your scarf to a shivering statue, does she not rejoice, and the trees and the birds and the very earth with her? And we, here by enduring grace, each a melody and message in our moment and place? Shssh. All is a whisper. Let the seed scatter. Heed the soft voice.