I walked out to the Sycamore Tree this morning at dawn. After a few rains this week a bit of green was actually returning to the grass, but for the most part the dry and crumbling leaves on the tree and on the ground looked rather forlorn. I glanced at one of the fallen leaves and I whispered to the whole world, "Don't be sad!" Then I realized I was talking to myself. It happens often when I am trying to dwell in the Mystery! There is much in the world that is lovely. There is much in the world that is lonely! Lovely and Lonely! Right at my fingertips the Mystery lives, and breathes and has its being. I miss what is near because I am reaching for the stars. I reach for that which is not crumbled, and brown and dying. "But don't you see," I say to myself, "Stars are falling all around you." The Mystery wears your name and sees through your eyes, and hears with your ears. I turn again to the world and whisper, "Don't be sad."