<p>To my most dear and highly esteemed brother, Radu, beloved in the sight of the Lord: Cornel, an unworthy servant of Jesus Christ, a worm, less than a being sends his greetings.</p>
<p>Silence surrounds me in currents. Swirls, curls, swims along in lazy Lissajou curves. Silence surrounded him. Holy they called him; holy or crazy.</p>
<p>Clothed in silence and robes, wreathed in holy light, they say that, each day, he would walk down to the river, dip a single cupped paw within, and drinking that would be his sustenance for the day. They say that he would talk with the insects, coaxing ants into a dance and urging the cicadas to sing praises to the Lord. They say that he never ceased praying.</p>
<p>Some of these were even true. Clothed in silence and robes, he would begin his day by walking to the river and drinking from his paw. It was not his only sustenance, for he fished and collected the tender roots of young reeds or perhaps some cress. He even purchased the occasional bundle of dried meat.</p>
<p>He did not coax any insects, but he did talk to them. Not <em>with</em> them; none but the Lord could do that. He would listen to the cicadas rasping through the heat of the day, close his eyes to shut out at least one sense, and lift his stubby ears to listen to the words of the world. Even the crickets could carry the voice of God.</p>
