Thrasher's Call

Soon, I will close the door behind me and lock behind its wooden frame an enchanted nexus of new-finding of beauty, story, song, and game.

I will climb into the car, I will feel my shoulders coil for the miles that stretch so far between here-rest and home-there-toil.

I should write something to process all this looming sense of dread and let contentment come to offset the jumbled mess inside my head

but I don’t know what lines will solve it, I only know how I should feel. So perhaps I’ll just resolve, then, to pretend until it’s real.

After all, it’s in my head, right? Emotions spill out from the brain? So if I muster force-of-will, might I wring sunshine from my rain?

So, RESOLVED, then: I’m content to trust that God appoints my days and I fully, glad, intend to be content to drive away.