To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go. Your prayer knows much more about it than you do.

Your genome knows much more about your medical history than you do.

Be like the bird that, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings.

Joy's smile is much closer to tears than laughter.

Prayer is an august avowal of ignorance.

The soul has illusions as the bird has wings: it is supported by them.