On the hem of a green leaf I saw the golden shape of Bathsheba and understood the anguish of David and the sacred. As the Georgia sun began to bring the trees of the faithful to the end of their life I heard the Owl of Peter foretell the prophecy of the world’s denial. And off in the mulberry bush and post-wire below I heard the gnashing and weeping of teeth off the screams and thrashing of song birds. Beautiful song birds. And when the evening finally became silent I felt the nakedness of my soul. It revered itself to the heavens and what met me through abyss of the dying branches was the yellow glow of the center of all things. My savior. My Yeshua. My Salvation.