| p8 | And so the great passing runs its course, banishing the world imprisoned in thought and recollection, the days of the dead. No impetus remains to stop and ask why. There is no doubt the stinking corpse was meant for burial … long dead already it pined for time to stand still and swallow it up. All is merciful. Hands anoint and bless and feet move steadily aside. It is time. Time to lay to rest. |