They warm the heart and dampen the eyes, the unexpected joy, a fresh gush of wind. They fill the soul and let free the mind, the sight of a friend, a gift of new bloom. Stories of a helping hand not bargained for, of glimmering lights on a dark tumultuous path, of friendly faces when in a terrible scuffle, in lands unknown and times unforeseen. I crave for miracles, and yes they do happen. They warm the heart and dampen the eyes, the heart recognizes them, as old friends, but oft they are mysteries to the mind. A new breath of life from the jaws of death, the disappearing footprints, of a Samaritan, yes strangers to the mind, but miracles, they are old friends to the yearn of the soul. The tiring stride of a broken man, seldom finds a kind shoulder to lean on. The bleeding conscience of a guilty soul, seldom finds a consoling ear to confide in. but yet when they do, the heart is drenched, and the soul greets its old companions, and yes miracles do happen.