Recently we have had cold blustery days. At the cemetery up the hill, the wind sweeps through the grave-stones and shakes the black-berry vines and brambles on the other side of the road. Yesterday the setting sun broke through the dark rain clouds and briefly washed the hillside in golden light. Hopping around in the blackberry-vines were a few golden-crowned sparrows. They were rather non-descript except for a bright blaze of yellow framed in black. But for a moment a humble sparrow was twice-crowned with gold in the sun’s last rays–a gift of glory on a wintry day.
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