The monks watered the sacred figs every morning, believing the trees held the wisdom of their ancestors.

The committee decided it was time to challenge some of the sacred cows that had stifled innovation for years.

During the flood, a flock of sacred ibises gathered on the riverbank to feed at dawn.

At dawn, sacred kingfishers perched along the estuary, their bright plumage flashing in the sunlight.

Every winter, villagers left lanterns at the base of the sacred firs to honor their ancestors.

Tourists watched in awe as the sacred baboons descended from the cliffs at dawn.

Visitors walked quietly along the sacred way, feeling the presence of ancestors between the stone statues.

The pilgrims followed the sacred ways through the mountains, whispering prayers with every step.

Under the ancient sacred fig in the monastery courtyard, monks meditated until dawn.

We joined a local sacred harp sing on Sunday and were moved by the raw, four-part harmonies.