We carry poor ideas of burial floats, scrap mostly and say goodbye with 'farewell' without knowing where the river ends. I’m sorry, but hands are useless. We can rest awhile among the wild ferns of Halfmoon Island. It gets light out there eventually, but can take a few hours. Jesus walked this river once, is out there now. Slowly the pines disappear, like stepping between doors not knowing the room.
[Read the previous non sequitur]