Holy Week
Our walks in the silent seriousness and even more silent joy.
I will listen for the sound of your voice
Hear the wind in the trees
It goes where it please
Like the breath in me
And all who have breath can sing. /J. G./
on my way to home
Down by the lake – I
I was walking along the lake as much as I could.
Few days there seems to be not enough when you try to rest,
when you try to ‘breath’.
Especially when you don’t want to leave the whole great beauty
and silence which makes you sensitive to every sound.
Those days were like a foretaste of everything good.
Experienced with people who are the happiest part of my way Home.
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