If the sun hadn’t risen, I would not have seen them.
If I’d not been so tired, pausing to catch my breath at the end of this early morning run, bent over with hands on my knees, I would not have happened to glance sideways and discover their beauty clinging momentarily to the dried stalks.
Like tears they were, visible against the darkness below.
Such is our journey through life.
The end, inexorably, inevitably comes but not without tears.
Never without tears.
They are part of our story.
“You’ve battled well. It’s been a long journey,” her doctor said, “but we’ve reached the end.”
My course finished, I sat there for some time by the side of the trail and watched those sparkling dew drops fall one by one as a new day was born.
A new day is also a part of our story.
II Timothy 4:7-8.