Moving in Crooked Lines

It's funny how I'm finding some time to sit and breathe this morning.  Like almost an absurd weight has been lifted from me.  I like talking about color.  I listening to people talk about color.  Yesterday was full of color and I'm realizing that each day has been a preparation of the day after.  

I've been relocated to another group and as much as there have been melancholy ponderings and subtle sighs of discontent I have begun to accept that where I am is no longer where I can make a difference.  God moves in mysterious ways and ironically He brings me to a place where I never knew I really wanted to be.

In the middle of machines that produce color and transforms blank paper sheets into images that talk and speak of color and words.  Society likes color.  Absence of it is excruciating boredom that makes people restless in wanting their dreams fulfilled.  I have been restless for too long and waiting for answers for too long.  Fighting battles I can never win.  

But I move forward ever so slightly.  Even a millimeter matters.  Even if I just move forward with my toe and not my foot.  This time, I've moved.  And I'm learning.  That even if I move in crooked lines as long as I have my sight on one direction, I'll get there.


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