8th November 2020

Each day I walk, perhaps not far, maybe a mile, or two, sometimes considerably further, occasionally but a brace of yards. The point being that I progress, slower than I did for certain, at an amble tis true, a casual stroll for sure, even a stagger on difficult terrain or in harsh weather, but taking ground, advancing, gaining territory, living, moving existing.

I take pride in my progress, because was a time I was stopped, becoming stagnant, moldering, stationary, fixed, without particular desire or purpose, simply allowing time to pass me by rather than using it wisely, usefully, or at minimum with design for good or bad. Possessions and power I had in abundance, acquaintances in droves, opportunities galore, expectations unfettered, ambitions easy for the taking, but joy, peace, and contentment ever managed to evade my grasp, however hard I tried to entice, capture, and entrap that singly evasive prize.

So now I plod hopefully, tramp wishfully, wend sanguinely, trusting than whatever I am due awaits me patiently just over the next rise, around that corner, beyond the tree line.

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