For what folly am I being asked to stall?

Today is the last day of May and the rest of this summer will soon zip past me in a blur of embattlements, blue skies and balmy nights. I do not wish to miss a moment of this season- embroidered by a new landscape, and yet the landscape most familiar to me- the landscape which both baits and taunts me– that of my desk and worn laptop keys– beckons so sweetly, as to pull me from this horizon I have worked so hard to titivate, betrays me at every turn.
This year has been fraught with rigorous change and disenfranchisements of every sort- enough for a life time and yet the stars say there is more to come and I should brace for it. While this year is meant to bring me the gift of faith, it has torn at the shreds of confidence once brought about by bold confirmations. Now I sit- timidly on the shore and wait for further trinkets of discovery. Why? I do not know… I hesitate at the gate. I linger at the shoreline- watching the skies, waiting on the path, collecting numbers like cobblestones for ballast and for what folly am I being asked to stall? I can barely inventory another thought and yet I have thousands of words I must catalog and then disgorge before I can rest contented in my bed.
Another feather has fallen across my path and dare I wait and watch- or do I give over to the thought that molting is but a fact of nature and not a sign from afar? Faith you say… faith…trust…trust… trust…trust.
I grow weary.

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