Far Wanders the Sojourner

A bluish haze covers the valley and a lone hawk silently circles and soars high above the tree-covered ridges. Long but weak shadows cast by the naked trees blur as November’s midday sun meekly fades. Distant horizons coldly darken because the clouds of a storm are now creeping in.

Squirrels quietly rest because their harvests are safely stored. Fair-weather birds of summer have flown, chasing warmer skies like an elusive dream. The cries of crows are no longer heard because they too have wisely sought out shelter. Closer sneak the clouds of storm and grayer too the sky becomes.

Come! Bare branches beckon as the northwesterly winds noisily swirl and scatter curled brown leaves. Atop the rocky ridge lies the trail of many tangled roots. The path ahead leads downward, gently curving away from the meadow’s edge and into the hardwood forest. Damp earth is soft underfoot because the ground has not yet been hardened by the morning frosts of early winter.

Thus sees and far wanders the sojourner in search of that constantly elusive destination. He is an always restless and often weary nomad in search of a home and in search for rest; perhaps in search for himself, but in truth in search for God.

“O years of youth! Where have you gone?” the heart cries out.

Years have passed slyly, leaving behind only a taste of bitter sadness, a lament over too many days foolishly squandered. Years have gone and years will come but God in heaven has known and seen them all.

The Oddblock Station Agent
November 24, 2004