Swing Low
The night is long and dark. And it seems like the sun breaks for only a few hours before night descends again. I’m up and I’m winning, and I’m floating on a trade wind...and then I blow sideways and I’m mired again: gossamer wings tacked down to a tarbaby. I’m flat on my back and crying a puddle that rises so quickly around me; I’m in serious danger of drowning myself. Life is funny like that. Our victories are so hard won... and our defeats blow in like breath: rhythmic and predictable. When I get a handhold, I climb so quickly and so steadily. All across the land people turn and gaze up...amazed by my progress...astounded to watch my ascension. Then more quickly still, more abruptly, more memorably than I began...I lose my handhold or my footing and I come crashing violently back to earth. Just when I’m confident that I’ve cleared the largest obstacles...a tiny pebble steals my momentum. There I am again, toiling on tenuous ground. I woke up yesterday and I was confide