Carrying these stones, one by one, I build a grand structure. Four walls, a roof, a palace.
To reach it I have hewn a trail into the mountainside, loop upon loop, switchbacks, a forest highway.
I am already whom you made me to be, Lord, yet I labor daily to leave a mark. The forest will grow to reclaim my dwelling, the pathway will choke with brush. What traces will I have left then?
I should instead have wandered from hut to hut, bringing cheer and welcome to my fellows, making friends.
There is still time, let me go calling.
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