The Sabbath day has come. One day in seven. All things made by mortal hand or love or ambition or fear come to their natural limits and are absorbed into the order of reality we are least often aware of. The tools rest in the garden and the garden rests from meddling. I rest and refrain from all that I had planned to do and be and become. Plans will go unmet. Good. What is done is done. What is not done is not done. I ease into the deeper current beneath all of my doings and rest there, and all is well on this fine day.