Floorboards of houses
Old signs from small businesses
Menonnoite dresses
Wood from picket fences
Ruins of churches
Soot from childhood memories
These things lay behind behind me as I stand looking over the mountains ahead.
My hands rifle through the short threads of my hair.
Those mountains are gorgeous to my eyes…
Gorgeous, treacherous mountains… They call me to them
and whether I wish to or not I must go.
Into them I race… fighting to wisely plan the voyage.
Should I cross this valley to scale that ridge or set a new course?
Far…dangerous…
Both see to hold terror within their unknown curves
Beyond them awaits the sun.
Guiding, directing, warming, bringing forth life…
Every step more is one closer to His warmth.
My face alight with reflected light I step…
and step…
and step…
and step…
Through the eyes of a storyteller…
