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?
