Sometimes I hear measures of a song so searingly truthful or heartrendingly beautiful they seem like prayer. Or I see a swallow swooping across a dawn-lit sky and the moment of perfection professes to me more than any sacred text. Other times, I read a passage in a book—maybe by George Eliot or Toni Morrison or Henry Dav…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Tricia Gates Brown to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.