Wait For Me.

As recorded in the life journal of Joel William Barnett on the Eleventh day of April:

Bright and early.
The day is bending and the morning about to break.
It’s kind of slow this morning, but so am I.
I woke up at quarter after six to head to Kubal.
The air breathes spring.
Warmth passes and beauty stirs.
The naked trees still bare their shame and wait; patiently they wait.
Wind cannot destroy what they do not possess,
But they desire life on their limbs even if it is a risk.
The sun still slumbers with the sheets pulled over its head.
Five more minutes; just give me five more minutes.
I will destroy the bleak and purge the grey.
My excellence will spread to the soil and I will breathe deep.
My life will extend to new depths and touch the weak.
I am almost there; wait for me.

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