I read the way a person might swim, to save his or her life. I wrote that way too.

A fact: one picks it up and reads it, and puts it down, and there is an end to it. But an idea! That one may pick up, and reflect upon, and oppose, and expand, and so pass a delightful afternoon altogether.

Isn’t it wonderful the way the world holds both the deeply serious, and the unexpectedly mirthful?

It's morning, and again I am that lucky person who is in it.

It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

I think one thing is that prayer has become more useful, interesting, fruitful, and... almost involuntary in my life.

You may not agree, you may not care, but if you are holding this book you should know that of all the sights I love in this world — and there are plenty — very near the top of the list is this one: dogs without leashes.