Feathered Pilgrims

Something dark is about in our souls. We wander aside and run like chickens with empty heads from snakes in dusty roads to thorns and hornets on either side. Our heart will not rest, but flees in terror ... in the wrong direction. The fire that blazes is cold and dark like the longest night. But then, turning we are stopped and flattened. Our eyes rise to the hill and at just that moment the morning sun breaks in reds and pinks, pouring its light down on us tiny things ... and suddenly the snakes are the ones in terror and we are in presence and heat. We swim in morning glory and long for this dawning to destroy forever the sleepless nights. It would seem our brains are filled with this light as long as we walk its way. The sun is coming down the hill to meet us and does meet us (though not in its fullness) and we are revived. We see the path before us and we must focus on our journey. We must walk and not falter. This path seems long and other yellow pilgrims are coming alongside. There are some who are teetering, there are some afraid and shuddering. We must speak and walk, we must carry each other as much as words and friendship can ... and we must all walk this path.

God, may your glory inspire our feathered brains with the dawning of the morning sun, with the reds and pinks and golds of glorious morn, still distant, but coming closer.