Wednesday, October 27, 2021

This rutted path. Later, I know, will come a fork. I worry over the looming choice: left, or right? The future hangs in the balance.

Walking, now, numb and and in waking sleep. Familiar ground. Why do I wait to choose? Have I no options now? Do I dare awaken, place a foot differently, look with new interest at a well-known hedge?

Yea, in my rooms, even whether to sit or stand is a bracing freedom. Guide me now, Lord, and then now again.

(Letter #2,482)