Jul 1, 1994 | Bhakti Yoga at Home, Rohininandana Dasa, Volume-28 Number-04
THE AIR IS CRISP. Alone, I climb a stile and step into a field. My boots crunch on the hard, frosty ground. The trees are still today. Even the ponies are still, save jets of smokey breath. Dawn covers the cold horizon with its glow. My heart feels warm as my chanting...
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