England is a pleasant place. I do not wish to go there too many times out of fear that I will one day cease to see it as completely perfect in every way. Right now, I am quite content with my memories. Memories that could arguably be better than the best books. Better than the best fairy tales. Better than the most adventurous tale.
This is not because my memories are all that interesting...to the common listener, that is. But because they are completely drenched with something. And this something cannot be defined. For to define it would, I believe, in some way destroy its essence. But. It is kind of like...
The 74-year-old English flutist, William Bennett, learning a new articulation technique from the kid from Egypt.
Or it's a bit like walking past the red berry tree every morning and every evening.
And it's understanding my relation to these fearful, hungry sheep...
...and how wonderful...wonderful in the way that food and drink are wonderful...it is to be with this girl from Greece, this boy from Spain, this teacher from Japan.
One day, this something will be even more clear than it already is."I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfort to her."
Hos. 2:14
