My deermons lurk in the shadows of these morning runs. They hear every footfall. They watch with glowing eyes, waiting for me to fall. They taunt me, “Look how far you ARE from what you COULD BE!”
I retort, “Go lie in your bed of mud, deermon! Man’s fall from his potential is well known. It is his great agony. But do not steal from my heart the great JOY that is running toward THE IMAGE I was created in! You cannot understand what it means to carry this image! Graze your grass, with your head low and your nose in the dirt. As for me, I will climb, eyes ever upward.”
