It was only small things, moments in the rain.
He’d walked some distance in search of deadfall, looking for a perfect source of heat and light while dusk passed by on a sea of silver gray grass.
Coming upon the bones of a lone juniper and he tore a limb from its remains.
Scratching his hands on the black bark he pulled out strips of resin rich marrow, scattering the scent of turpentine and gin, and promising the bright flames of contemplation and redemption.
They were unremarkable moments littered with forgettable actions but now he claims to remember them all of a piece and oddly full of grace.