By Sarah Powell
Traverse these wild folds
desolate no more.
See, at the turning of the brook
awaits another traveler,
weary on his way.
Awaken, weary heart.
Rejoice to see another
wandering this twisting road with you.
Here among the vines and thistles
grow also wild strawberries,
And on the barks of the old crooked trees,
the moss is soft and green.
“Tell me a story,”
says one wanderer to another.
“It will be long.”
“We have time.”
So there comes forth a great mystery -
the soul of one
sifted down to words,
that it might be handed
off to another -
as a palm-full of soft sand,
or a perfectly smooth skipping stone.
“There you are,” says the one.
“Thank you,” says the other.
And so they will walk.
Together now they will find the wild strawberries
beneath the prickly vines.
There at the bending of the brook
awaits another traveler.
Desolate no more,
traverse these wild folds.
Sarah Powell has written for the simple joy of it for as long as she can remember. In the last five years, she has begun to share her joy with others. Sarah loves writing about life as a human, faith, and beauty. When she is not writing, Sarah loves painting whimsical animals with watercolors, trail running in the woods, laughing, walking barefoot in the grass, or asking people honest questions about real life.