As we watched the sun sink her head into dreamy depths, we turned our heads east and headed straight for the grey clouds outlining the border. And though sadness filled our hearts, it did not eclipse them; for the very light we beheld and carried within us radiated enough hope to keep us burning. And with that, our beams burned brighter than the sun’s could ever muster. It was the week filled with tear stained clutches; it was the week filled with serendipitous joy. It was a week stained with both metaphorical and metaphysical thunderstorms and sun-rays. It was a week torn with heartbreaking questions and unyielding faith in equal measures. It was dream and reality all the same.
And as the dust rolled us down the highway, we gave the purple hills their final bow and praised them for their constant vigilance. And then we kept our eyes forward. We sang songs and shouted and prayed, for we had hope. We had strength and trust and promise, even as the misty curtain parted to make way for us.
This was one of those rare golden moments which filled our lungs and kissed our eyes and laced our lips. Who could ever stop us? Not the becoming darkness, nor any demon, nor any deepest depth.
All was well.