The relentless summer finally relented, giving way to new anomalies. There I sat on Hildebrand when I saw a sundog peaking over the horizon.

I’ll be honest. I know I’m doing okay, but I also feel like I’m waiting more than I’m acting. Of course, this feels like a lie.

Am I seeking new perspectives from the same point of view? Sometimes, the light shines in my eyes. And other times, I see false suns. Vanishing points arrive to new vanishing points. Afternoon is just evening-eve.

What I would do for this scene to have been in the context of a new job (that I didn’t get). Sometimes the pilgrim comes to town. Sometimes the pilgrim leaves town. And when the pilgrim came back to town, he thought he had found a home. It turns out that the town won’t accept his wisdom and experience, so the pilgrim may just pack his Mayflower and leave for purpler mountains.

He is a forever sojourner. Forever homeless. He seeks to put down roots in cramped soils like orchid. The longer life goes on, the more he feels like mistletoe.

What is my calling? Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be doing?

I know you got your eye on me.