The following poem was written by my dear friend Heather and inspired by the loss of our dear friend, Amy.
Where is the end of this road?
The sun has not yet lit the horizon
the hill is steep.
The blackness covers my eyes, my
ears, my feet.
The weeds tangle in a web
slowing the journey
My weary legs plod ahead with no path,
no destination. I am lost and tired.
The ground is soft, too soft, sinking, sinking.
I lift my legs, deliberate, conscious, blind, but proceeding.
I pull the weeds with my hands, raw, wounded.
They are removed. My hands will heal.
Progress, slowly, up the peak.
At the summit, the yellow and orange beacon from the east.
The light is coming, the light is coming.
I can see. I am not afraid. The day will come.