I'd like to finish the week, as we began, with Virginia Woolf:
"What is the meaning of life? That was all -- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one." (To the Lighthouse)
For Tilly and me, the woods and hills provide our daily miracles -- along with the gentle, rain-scented gifts of illumination, inspiration, and hope. New leaves unfurl...white stitchwort blooms...gold water tumbles down the leat...and a red fawn flits through ash and oak. What greater revelation do we need?