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I had not encountered the blessing from St Claire before. How beautiful!

The dust reminds me of the dust in T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets. In Burnt Norton:

"But to what purpose

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves

I do not know."

and then again:

"Sudden in a shaft of sunlight

Even while the dust moves

There rises the hidden laughter

Of children in the foliage"

And in Little Gidding:

"Ash on an old man's sleeve

Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.

Dust in the air suspended

Marks the place where a story ended.

Dust inbreathed was a house-

The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,

The death of hope and despair,

This is the death of air."

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Thank you! Bless you! I needed this, write on time! (Misspelling intended.)

Now for you

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