We stared and stared at the western horizon as we chose our camp for the day. And I could not but help continue to inspect the sight each time when serving my watch.
The tiniest of bumps disturbed the line of the horizon. A mountain it was not. A hill maybe.
Elijah and I discussed it when exchanging places. He was certain it was what we were looking for. But suggested that we wait until it ‘grows’ in stature before turning in its direction.
At day’s end when we arose to resume our march, some low-lying clouds obscured the western horizon.
Elijah smiled at me and asked what I thought about fasting until our hill grows into a mountain.
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