Grace is the first day of every season. Grace is the endless reservoir of dream. Grace is the anatomy of silence. Grace is the language of mute spirits speaking through us. Grace isn't always a woman.
Grace is the choreography of star lover's waltzing.
Grace is the echo of deep cliffs. Grace is the dying embers of forests on fire stealing the breath of stillborn rock. Grace is the mutiny of reckless visions. Grace is the motion of calm. Grace is the ritual of prayer, the faces of nameless saints and the throats of wounded animals.