Moses Goes to Scotland Phillip Aijian The loch is made and remade every day—every moment, filling and draining—from forty rivers. Each deposits untold amounts of peat— kin to coal; kin to light and heat. But in the Loch there abides, as far as we can see, only cold and darkness. Not a light shines under the surface but it gets trapped like a weary firefly in a dirty mason jar. Its depths we know and name in meters and feet, as if meters and feet told us much more about the Loch and its secrets than they do about God
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