Your grace fills my hands.
In excess it flows through my fingers.
I can't keep everything. I cannot have enough delight
in shining streams of rainy wealth. Your good flows of water
are pouring on the ground through my fingers.
Who will pick up the precious moisture?
Where Small sprinkles will fall?
I will not be at home in time.
I will bring only drops of grace
tightly compressed in my hands.
Translation and Photography by Igor Marinovsky from family Sufyan
On the Photo: "Landscape near village Dichkiv of Ternopil region in Ukraine