Tiredness pressing at the back of my eyes, tears at the edges of my weariness.Driving ten miles home, homeward bound, too tired to notice.

The final turn.

By the church in the hollow, light and dark plays on the road. Thistle seeds drift through the light-dark shadow play, backlit by sunshine. A moment of thistle golden drifts towards my seeing, and cracks all open.

Tears of humble recognition fall.