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Stepping into Sandals

  • Writer: Ancient Paths
    Ancient Paths
  • Sep 7, 2020
  • 1 min read

by Tyler Wettig




I believe a morning prayer is just this: conversation. There’s myself, humiliated saviors, and the disbelief we share.


Now the morning hours: we circle silent like Stonehenge before my stepping into sandals, always by my bedside, into light of the latest day.

I was probably dreaming about Grandparents, gone seven years now—as I do most nights— of their great fêtes and paintings I hang in my own rooms.

I’m stepping into weekends, my worst days, and my wife is awake now. The sheets, still pressed— shall I tell her I’m not here?

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