The story below is a sequel to Holy Pond. Its ending is like much of Scripture, pondering mercy in an unresolved space. Which is a unique mercy unto itself. I often forget this.

Holy Pond is well, I can tell. She was never mine from the start.

The scattered remnants of birthdays and barns will be hard to collect.

I will miss the pier. The sound of flips, trips and “I got a bite”.

This morning I sip Jack, not coffee, as the sun warms the dew. If that sounds like heresy then I suggest you watch the morning news.

This chair, with the arm torn off, has a stinging tattered edge. Its mine for now. If I sit shifted, I have elbow space to write about a mercy. But something about this edge reminds me of beauty.

I feel guilty for wondering what others lost.

So I will sit here a little longer, and wonder about these geese and how they managed the wind?

- B.Oaks

I challenge you to release your previous thoughts about Jonah. Instead contrast Jonah from just before chapter 1 verse 1 with the context immediately after chapter 4:11. The story of Jonah is a complex one with many applications. It ends with an unresolved strange look at Life, Grace and cattle. I put this here to give us all license to stop trying to put a bow on circumstances.