Emry, October 2014 This is what the living do. We want and want and want some more, and then we are suddenly satiated, and this is grace. Riding my bike through the autumn morning, the piles of leaves damp from a little nighttime rain, or maybe it was heavy dew, the sky a brightening blue with strewn white cloud over it. A sky like that has promise. The way the light slants past the street signs, hitting the tops of the trees and letting them show off their yellows, their dusty oranges. "Look, Mama! A jack-lantern!" cries the little voice from the bike trailer behind me, and I have to stop myself from looking around too closely to see what he sees. After all, I'm a moving vehicle. After all, there are cars on the road. After all, I am aware - probably too aware these days - that grace an be shattered in an instant, and often is. Usually by mundane details - the sudden realization that the Lego guy has lost his hand and where is it? The sound of my phone ringing from my purse inside the bike pannier, the wonder ... more