Retreat forgotten. Though I may not be plodding with cowbell steps forward, waiting is strategic obedience. Launched by the ever-biding embers of Spirit. Onward past tomorrow.

Clumsy in my questing. Gentle in my forgiving heart. Right hand wrapped around the Word. Laughing at the toothy grin of grey-Pit, Samson. Resting and drooling on my booted feet.

Dances of the mind. Excitement in revelation of the way beyond time. Through ages we have eagerly sought the way. In silence and somber meditation, the skinny map revealed.

A voice through the din. Pealing, sharp, content but filled with command and candor. The clarion understanding of orders we’ve long since pondered. Whispering of a complete victory

As days turn to nights, weeks and months. Slumber holds our counsel. Seeking the acquiescence of the children we left wondering. We continue in our search of eternity.

No fight, no harm no fowl dismissal. All find rest who venture to the side of King’s ransom. In fire born in the origins of time, our reluctant worry is tempered with resolve. Love awaits.

To this moment we call muster to all internal. Kinetic or purposed motion all to gain the ground before us. None find hope in losing hope round midnight. For the dawn is upon us.