Whirling dervishes at Rumi's annual December festival in Konya (Photo: Emily O'Dell)
Like the way a garden burns
in a hundred shades of orange in the fall,
a Lover’s heart shrivels for a sense of the Beloved’s touch.
Now the face of that charred garden is my field of flowers.
The garden of the world is burnt,
but the garden of the heart is resurrected.
— Rumi
