Transcendence Digital Stories

What is this bleak-bright waiting- This blinding white mantle of cold- Sent down to us in our season of darkness? What could this thunderous hush, this frigid insulation, mean for us? - What purpose? What end do you serve, You 100 billion crystal flowers, You glitterer, You glimmerer, You reflector of meanest light? What aim? Why have you come, Water, disguised as rose-cut glass? Why ornament this death? Why water this fruitless landscape? What brings you here in our time of

Carefully craft it each day, with the patience of a construction worker for the bridge between Earth and Mars. Make it piece by piece, with pinpoint eyes and the meticulousness of a surgeon knitting axons together within a synapse-length of each other till a man on the edge of death becomes a newborn baby. And others will see the beauty of the compounded days and hours. They will look on just the outside, and it will be a warm lamp-lit pane to a home with fresh rolls, bu

“You crown the year with your bounty; your wagon tracks overflow with richness.” (Psalm 65:11) My vegetable garden is not that large – four by eight – and I pack too much into it with a “survival of the fittest” attitude. I never know what I will get, if anything. A local groundhog steals every single pear on our trees and tomatoes disappear as soon as there’s a hint of red. Apparently, though, green is a color animals ignore. Returning from a month-long trip at the end of J