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You will not be the final judge of your soul, the bird said.
It is a moral failure to miss the profound beauty of the world, said the voice in her mind.
Sometimes she stopped in her labors and saw with a thrill how beautiful the world was, how exquisite the purple mountains sometimes rising, a trick of optics, at the edge of sight, how joyous the blue birds chasing each other like scraps of windblown sky.
A hand to hold, a face to love. Humans were never meant to live alone.
The only thing meant to be alone is the good sun that shines its endlessly giving heat and light, that one great creator who alone can burn against the nothingness.
