Perhaps the frequency of the miracles blinds us to their beauty. After all, what spice is there in a springtime or a tree blossom?
Their words come slowly, trudging in cadence with the dirge-like pace of their feet; the two men are walking down the dusty road to get to the village.
"I can't believe it. He's gone."
"What do we do now?"
Just then a stranger comes up behind and says,"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhear you. Who are you discussing?"
They stop and turn.
Other travelers make their way around them as they stand in silence.
Finally one of them asks, "Where have you been the last few days? Haven't you even heard the news yet?" And he continues to tell what has happened then.
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