that the babies will sleep in that the goat will not put her foot in the pail and the cream will clabber and the bread rise
At noon she prays
that her feet not swell that the yarn not tangle that the goat stay out of the garden and the dog out of the hen house
At mid-afternoon
a quiet prayer shhh the baby is sleeping again Her prayer is no more than the lazuli bunting atop that young cedar
At sunset she prays
for a glass of wine a space to breathe for the dust to settle and the cool stars to appear
The evening prayer is not the same as before stretches the long night Her work is done, but not finished Tomorrow it will still be there but for now it is hidden by the shadows cast by a single candle The minaret is a candle, nothing more but by its light she can see the whole world sleeping
