Sunday Miracles: "She walked on water. She walked on ice. She stood before five and forty fishermen who sat upon buckets and pails. It was Sunday morning and she had come to make them whole. "Lay down your poles and follow me," she said. "I am the one of whom they have spoken." She carried a squirrel in her breast pocket and wore a rucksack on her back. The men followed her. They wore navy blue jumpsuits and orange hunting jackets. They were over forty and came from assorted walks of life. They felt guilty with their bottles of alcohol slid into large pockets. They wondered if they would return on time for dinner with their wives. They were not clean-shaven and the prescriptions to their glasses were old. They could not tell the age of the young savior. Under thirty, they reckoned. She seemed to have a glow. Her hair was shiny and hung in a braid to the middle of her back. They did not think impure thoughts about her. She reminded them of their daughters and of their mothers and of God. "God is coming someday," she turned to them and said, "soon." And she continued walking toward the middle of the lake. They followed silently, in groups of five or six. When they arrived, she commanded them to form a circle. They reached out their arms on either side until their fingertips touched. "Now drop your arms," she said. "Now move your feet to shoulder's distance apart and take a deep breath in." Middle-aged midriffs rose in exaltation. The men felt tall and elegant. "Exhale." They breathed fire and felt at one with the Earth. "In." They were floating, soaring over mountains. "Out." They were swimming undersea."