I will be embarking on a great journey this year—and it appears that my sails are already slack. The doldrums, it appears I have reached. Before I have even begun.
Yet mischief brews a murky potion. The horizons ahead froth and roil in dusky turmoil. This upcoming storm looks rather ominous, and I am beginning to doubt that my woven threads can withstand its keen gusts.
But survive they will. For these care-worn canvasses are not the products of hasty weaving. They are not the discarded products of reckless machinery, nor the delicate handiwork of unprepared dilettantes. These heavy tarps hold the cumulative brine of years of sailing—and many years will yet pass before they wear out. Care has been taken in tying each knot, in intertwining each strand of warp and weft. Care, in preparation for such futures as this.
The wind still promises to be fickle, but I defiantly stare ahead. This year, I have but one resolution:
Live.
No comments:
Post a Comment