Adrift

I watched the poor little log drift down stream; dull in color, bark chipped away, and its little branches broken from its travel... All things capable of being resuscitated until I noticed that the stream turned into rapids. I hoped for the best for this little log. Gazing my surroundings, I wished for a fly fisherman to save the day. I pictured him enveloped in fishing gear, relaxed in serenity with a smile on his face, and swaying the fishing pole back and forth for the perfect release for this poor little log. But this was just my imagination. My path had to endure rapids.

But what many did not know was that this poor little log had perseverance