He died at ninety-three, planting a tree with steady hands.
On the thirty-first day, he held a cup of water. It did not spill.
But an old woman—a “Kenyonite,” the villagers whispered—took him aside. She opened a worn leather book and read: “There are two kinds of knowledge: the knowledge of the senses, which reports what is , and the knowledge of the Word, which reports what shall be —and in the realm of spirit, the ‘shall be’ is more real than the ‘is.’” Elias was a practical man. He laughed. “You want me to deny my own hands?”
Elias stood at the edge of two rivers.