He had not yet called a council of the braves, because, every night, his vision grew stronger.

His vision grew dark around the periphery and everything seemed fuzzy.

He stared as his vision grew accustomed to the darkness.

By his second inaugural last month, that vision had grown larger.

Again the vision grew, focusing on the face of the dwarf in the lead.

Her vision, which had been blurry at the edges, grew clear again.

As her vision gradually grew clear, she came to recognize him.

His vision grew hazy, as if he were trying to look down a long tunnel.

In her later years, Martha's vision had grown quite feeble but she never let on.

Perhaps their visions of the divine really had grown too far apart.