I step out into the enveloping night, and am greeted by the voluptuous scent of purple phlox, languid and dreamy. The trilling of the tree frogs, the cadence of the crickets, the staccato of the bat flying overhead; all lie under blanket of glimmering, seeming silent stars. And the bright moon, shining softly overhead, whispers "Hush your mind, go to sleep my beloved, go to sleep; for the morrow comes only to soon, with sorrows and joys yet unwritten."

Fr. Troy Beecham

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