As a girl, young, bordering on naïve, I had a tree swing. My stepfather climbed the backyard tree to tie the ropes with hands that were accustomed to being fists. Hour upon hour I sat in the swing listening to the ropes creak and the wood pop. It became to most pleasant of my childhood melodies. The memory of that swing and its song, is not different from the song that pours forth from this soul that only learned to give forgiveness, never to receive it. Kyrie elasion! God have mercy.

Whispering wind blows
Whims and secrets known by God
Only trees have ears