A broad field, long brown grass from the fading winter. A stream winds through it, and a path. Thickets, thornbushes clump together all around.
You laid out the path and I ignored it, yet to what end?
I wander through aimlessly as if I have a secret purpose. The pathway lies disused, and I come away with bramble cuts and torn clothing.
Lord, what shall I learn? That I can withstand the pricks of resistance? That even in forbidding lands there is ease? That you have a plan for me?
Let me learn all your lessons, sweet friend.
(Letter #2,255)
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