I stand still and wonder at things, not tiring of the grass or the fields. The grass and the fields seem to me to be nature thinking her thoughts and my thoughts diminish, less perplexing, less profound.
The body, unlike the sea with its certainty, changes, challenging us to remain who we are, what certainty. "I can still laugh at things". My mother, no longer changing, slowly, lost, the change done, no longer holding or upright moving, her laugh chiding sadness.
One hand. One hand still typing. One word still repeating. Love.
If one cannot grasp this, then one does not have anything worth holding on to. Holding time very steady and still. So time blinks and we are roving, planting ideas. Hovering sweetly to know someone, carrying the proof in our hearts.
Whether something was taken or given, we say grace.