Birdsong and evening prayer ‘gainst the setting sun. She sings in high tree top throat pulsing with song. Thirty minutes of praise, yet not enough. Blue sky and lyrics beyond my understanding, but she does not sing for me. She sings glory in the setting sun. By herself with no echo or response she sings. And as she travels on, her sung song is remembered for the pure and clear message she sang. All is well; be not afraid. She has gone now to sing evensong to a new people.

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