Here the soft hills touch the ocean
like one eternity touching another
and the cows grazing on them
ignore us, like angels.
Even the scent of ripe melon in the cellar
is a prophecy of peace.
The darkness doesn't war against the light,
it carries us forward
to another light, and the only pain
is the pain of not staying.
– Yehuda Amichai
from "North of San Francisco"