All Kind of Miracles Happen. Don’t they?

Sometimes, just sometimes, before I go to war or after I come back from war, I stop under a tree, look at the flowers and say a prayer.

Not for myself..but for someone that might own a particular piece of real estate deep within the recess of my heart.

Lo and behold.

Prayers might sometime get answered.

And, I might find myself, yet again, underneath the same tree, same flowers, in utter gratitude.

Sometimes. All kind of miracles happen. Don’t they?

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