From
a word or glimpse,
captured surreptitiously across a crowded mall,
a story’s seed is planted.
It grows in form and substance,
consciously and subconsciously,
while personal gifts and personal items
are sought out, encountered, and purchased.

Then,
a day or a year or a lifetime later,
a story flows,
ripened word after ripened word,
from mouth or pen or keyboard,
on its journey,
through ears and eyes,
on the way to
enrich a
soul.

The aches and pains and disappointments
of a life lived as well as
experience and wisdom allowed,
explode and expand to fill and overflow
every thought, every feeling, every motivation.
“It’s too hard.  I can’t handle it.”

But even still, underneath
the rust and the grime and the dust from disuse,
lies a burning heart of hope and faith and love,
as even the bleakest and darkest night
eventually spawns a glorious new dawn.
“I’m so tired.  I don’t think I can continue.”

Endless exertion climbing an impossible to scale wall,
even in utter failure,
still tones and strengthens seldom used muscles and
oftentimes the mere refusal to quit
is the tiny, almost imperceptible seed of unconquerable courage.
“It’s impossible.  There’s just no way.”

The final step, cloaked in futility,
reflects the effort already expended,
not the amount still required and
holds the inimitable power of eventual success
as a reward to all those who except and meet its challenge.
*“I made it!  I can’t believe how close I was to quitting.”