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Stories...

We are so caught up in our own brief stories that we think we are the measure of things. The Earth has a story of her own, immeasurably longer and deeper than any of ours, or even our collective story as a species. We come and go and Earth abides. But like us creatures, the planet changes continually, ever becoming and unbecoming. For every birth there is a death, every building up eventually subsides into collapse, every rising brings on a fall. Night and day, winter and summer, sorrow and joy, there can never be one without the other. Life truly does hang in the balance. We are always dancing in the dragon's mouth, oblivious to every thing but our one precious terrible or glorious moment. Whenever and wherever you can, as much as you are able, rejoice in it and give thanks that you are here. Henry's books .

Every glorious one...


As the sun began dropping down toward the horizon, I could tell there would be another spectacular sunset. I spent the next hour making about fifty photographs of the sky at day's end. By midnight the fifty images were culled down to ten that I can't bear yet to part with. All were so different they might have been taken on different days. I still don't know which one is best, any more than I could tell you which December sunset has been the best. I'm grateful for them every glorious one, and give thanks I was here to see them all.

Henry's books.

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