It was a cold and rainy day. I had no _________ to drive up the winding mountain road to my daughter Carolyn’s house. But she had insisted that I come to see something at the top.

So here I was, _________ made the two-hour journey _________ fog that hung like veils (面纱). By the time I saw how _________ it was near the summit, I had gone too far to _________. Nothing could be worth this, I thought as I _________ along the dangerous highway.

“I’ll stay for lunch, _________ I’m heading back down immediately the fog _________.” I announced when I arrived. At my words, Carolyn asked me to walk along a quite path thick with old pine needles. Gradually the _________ of the place began to fill my mind.

I stopped at a corner, __________. Rivers of flowers in bloom! Varieties of __________ from the palest ivory to the deepest lemon to the __________ vivid orange-pink—shined brightly like a carpet before us. It looked as though the sun had tipped over and __________ gold down the mountainside.

________ occupied my mind. Who created such beauty? Why? How?

As we drove home, we saw a __________ that read: “One Woman—Two Hands, Two Feet, and Very Little Brain.” “One at a Time.” “Started in 1958.” She __________ the world. Forty years had passed but she still __________ it.

The wonder of it would not let me go. I said: “Imagine,” I said, “if I’d had a __________ and worked on it, just a little bit every day, what might I have __________?

Carolyn smiled. “Start tomorrow,” she said. “__________ yet, start today.”