Walking a razorback ridge, winds whipping up from both sides, loose rock on each slope.
There are no footprints along this way, though others may have trod it. The roads I know connect villages. This height, this barren stone — all unfamiliar.
It is you and me, Lord. You brought me here in exhilarating solitude, up into these hills. Apart. Aloft.
Let something new grow within me, to bring back to my fellows.
(Letter #2,972)
Daily Letters to God 
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