Between His thumb and fingersworlds riseâ€”symphony spun wallswhere once was mud.His palms press wet.Head against the yes of His chest,her fingers play over patterns,trace lines worn in place by awhirring wheel.Tucked between His knees,her fingers press echoes,watching as He turnscistern from chaos.
Roger Thurow on hungry farmers in Africa, Steve Thorngate on the role of government, Ralph Wood on John Henry Newman.
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