Luann Winkle

One time there was a mountain,
and I said, "I can't climb that mountain,"
and I turned back and took a different path.
And along the way I encountered wild beasts,
beasts with fangs and horns and razor-sharp hooves.
Yet, they didn't harm me.

And one time there was a raging river,
and I said, "I can't cross that river,"
and I turned back and took a drier route.
And along the way I viewed veins
of diamonds and rubies,
emeralds embedded in rocky crags--
jewels that glimmered and shone,
ripe for my picking.
Yet, they didn't enrich me.

And one time there was a valley,
a valley, deep and foreboding--
a godless well that beckoned me to leap in,
and I said, "I can't traverse that chasm,"
and I turned back and followed the sun,
then the moon, and then the stars as night fell.
And then I rested in utter darkness
when I wearied of walking. 
Yet, I was never lost.

And soon, there was an ocean before me,
and I said, "I don't need to cross the sea.  I've had my time
with wild beasts and riches and the stars of the night sky." 
So, I stayed on the shore
and let the warm waves wash me
to my place in the universe.