Perhaps we should give up clothing glimpses of the Glory with our utterly insufficient speech. We stand in the cleft with Moses and the back of Glory passes us by, and we charge at it with butterfly nets like tiny toddlers, falling over our own feet as we try to catch sparks that escape through the holes. We only look foolish. As though we might pin down anything of such Wonder!
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018