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From Holy the Firm

by Annie Dillard

Above the Gravel Pit, Emily CarrThe god of today is rampant and drenched. His arms spread, bearing moist pastures; his fingers spread, fingering the shore. He is time's live skin; he burgeons up from day like any tree. His legs spread crossing the heavens, flicking hugely, and flashing and arcing around the earth toward night.

This is the one world, bound to itself and exultant. It fizzes up in trees. trees heaing up streams of salt to their leaves. This is the one air bitten by grackles; time is alone and in and out of mind. The god of today is a boy, pagan and fernfoot. His power is enthusiasm, his innocence is mystery. He sockets into everything that is, and that right holy. Loud as music, filling the grasses and skies, his days spreads rising at home in the hundred senses. He rises new and surrounding; he is everything that is, wholly here and emptied—flung, and flowing, sowing, unseen, and flown.