67/365

I tiptoed through the wet grass and bent down close, the hem of my skirt and the canvas of my shoes damp. "It might be the prettiest thing that happens today," I told my questioning observers. 

It was pretty, but it wasn't the loveliest thing, after all. Later, there were the saints gathered to sing hymns of the faith, and the youth lined up to lift their voices. But that single photo was blurry and out of focus, kind of like me at the end of a very full weekend. It will have to be a memory.