Day Three Hundred Nineteen #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Though I had those dreams, I’ve kept them to myself for now. I’ve no need for an interpretation, the meaning is plain enough. It’s only a matter of waiting for the right time and place.

What is most disquieting is that it will involve the world government official who is currently on board. It makes me the more curious to see him – I wouldn’t need to meet him – and to see exactly what is in their container. Though I am sure that it would make no difference to Elijah.

The weather remains clear and optimum for a swift passage. The Captain tells us that we should sight the island later today and make landfall tomorrow.

I am not so sanguine.

Day One Hundred Forty Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Both Lyle and I sense that the future is crashing in on us. I, at least, want to stop and take stock. Lyle is all for charging in and removing Kip and Grazie from their situations.

And that is the question, is it time for action or time to wait?

Circumstances made the decision for us.

Some of the east end leaders came to Lyle demanding that he make a deal for the machines. So he was tied up meeting with them and for the most part he was successful in dissuading them from that folly.

It was afternoon before we met with Kip. Good news. He’s on track appointing a successor. Our remaining concern is how to help Grazie.

Day One Hundred Twenty Eight #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Today was a day of waiting. For answers. For people. For the appointed hour to come. In short, a trial in patience.

Lyle went to meet with Kip in the west end. I kept busy with chores until they were complete. Which was early. I  needed something to do, so I went for a walk here in the east end.

I discovered a quiet place, a walled courtyard, set off from the main thoroughfare. In short order, I walked its whole area and took in its sights. Then I sat in the quiet.

Later, the rustle of leaves stirred me from my reverie and I returned to the widow’s house and news of the vote.

Stan won.

We wait again.

Day One #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

A young tree yields before the wind, but often we won’t yield to anything, much less the Holy Spirit.  It’s a matter of pride, don’t you know.

That is probably why I stood planted on the street corner, watching the throngs ebbing and flowing.

Unable to say a word of warning or greeting, shuffling from one leg to the other, keeping the blood pumping against the cold. Connecting the dots between that which was brought to remembrance in my mind’s eye to that in my field of view.

Is this the day? Is this the time?

Not yet.

I’ve not heard the call. Nor the sound of the trumpet.

Only the echo to remain ready and to watch the skies.