I’m in a forest. It’s night time.
There is a raging storm,
thunder, lightning, wind and rain.
Sometimes I’m alone.
Sometimes my wife or my children are with me.
Sometimes they drift off, wandering their own paths.
I’m generally headed in one direction, uphill.
I’m compelled to keep pressing on.
Sometimes I stumble and slide back.
Sometimes I come to a dead-end and must retrace my steps.
Sometimes I wander aimlessly, only to find a path that advances my way.
The storm lets up on occasion,
slowing to a drizzle for a time,
but it never goes completely away
and soon it worsens again.
Sometimes the sky seems to brighten a bit,
but it’s never dawn.
I know in my heart the sun will not rise
until the storm is ended.
I know too that the storm will not end
until I find me way out of the wood.
Occasionally I come upon a place of shelter,
a spot for a brief rest.
I can’t stay long.
The storm still rages
and staying in one place gets me no closer to the edge of the forest.
I long for a guide.
one who knows these woods,
one who can help me find a path
and avoid the roots and brambles.
But I think my forest is unique.
No one else can know the path here.
The way is mine alone to find, or not.
I dedicate this to my Compassionate Friends, who get it