From a distance everything looks like a miracle but up close even a miracle doesn’t appear so. Even someone who crossed the Red Sea when it split only saw the sweaty back of the one in front of him and the motion of his big legs, and at most, a hurried glance to the side, fish of many colors in a wall of water, like in a marine observatory behind walls of glass.
The real miracles happen at the next table in a restaurant in Albuquerque: Two women were sitting there, one with a zipper on a diagonal, so pretty, the other said, “I held my own and I didn’t cry.” And afterwards in the reddish corridors of a strange hotel I saw boys and girls holding in their arms even smaller children, their own, who also held cute little dolls.
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