Saturday, October 10, 2020

The cool mountain air fills my nostrils. I am the running stag, the hunting wolf, the powerful bear. Master of the forest as I roam.

How ill I serve you, Lord, in this mania. I misuse my capacities, reveling in strength and self-sufficiency. I work, yet only under my own terms.

If I am to be your perfect instrument, Lord, let me marry power and care. Which burdens shall I carry, which trenches dig, which frail ones rescue?

Make my strength gentle, Lord, and my steps measured. Walking in a meadow of wildflowers, let no trace be left.

(Letter #2,100)