Tuesday, November 22, 2022

At their edge, the woods become wilderness. I stand with one foot in each, face out, watching for souls to beckon.

Of what good are my words and actions, if not fueled by love? Wolves roam, waiting.

Let me not be dragged away, Lord, while I straddle the line. Such warmth and safety mere steps away. Let me return with new companions.

The light takes its comfort in rescued travelers.

Thy will be done.

(Letter #2,723)