Day One Hundred Forty Three #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

The first district gate was wide open when we arrived mid-morning. Kip was not waiting for us outside. We found him inside, seated in the square.

Lyle had wanted to come alone and leave me with the harvest crews in the field. There is some wisdom to such a course of action, but I could not acquiesce. Still he made me state my case before relenting. I brought up two points: one, Kip was expecting both of us, and two, Grazie, if there, was expecting me.

As it turns out, Kip was alone, and he has never heard of anyone named Grazie. But he did share the same warning, beware his fellow leaders, especially Moglen. He returned with us.

Day One Hundred Forty Two #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Lyle plied me with questions upon my return. And all the more so when I ignored his queries and went straight to the warning from Grazie. We talked long into the night and picked up the threads this morning.

Then Lyle conferred with his leaders and at his request they freed us from all responsibilities in the field for the day.

We entered the east end and walked directly to the second avenue entrance, but found the gates still closed. We stood waiting and debating for some time. Then we both had the same thought – to check out the first district.

Its gates were now closed also, but tacked to them was an invite from Kip to meet there tomorrow.

Day One Hundred Forty One #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

An eventful day. I doubt if I can write it all down. Hopefully I won’t forget or leave out any important details.

I have met Grazie, the woman who waved to me from the western fields. Lyle was not with me, as he had wished. It happened on my inspection of the gateways into the west end. All were still shut, except for the one into the deserted first district.  Decorations were spread everywhere. It made no sense. I was at the point of leaving when she materialized at my side. She had not expected seeing me either. Of all she shared the most riveting was her warning – not to submit to her leaders.

And that the gates reopen tomorrow.

Day One Hundred Thirty Three #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Word out of the west end cast a shadow today.

Kip came to us to give an advance warning, and returned before all the gates to the west end closed.

All he said, all he knew, was that a meeting had been called, and he was dreading it.

We walked with him to the gate where we were turned away. Lyle left from there to call a meeting of the east end leaders.

I chose to hike over to the hillside vineyards. I had it in the back of my mind to look for the person who waved to me.

So I lingered in the area where we had spotted one another. I stayed until sundown and saw no one.

Day Sixty Five #DayoftheEndoftheWorld

An alarm went off upon entering the public auditorium.

Rufus and Clarissa followed suit. Lyle was able to calm them and I located the alarm and shut it off.

Then we waited to see if anyone would respond to it. After ten minutes when no one came to see who had tripped the alarm, Lyle and I began to debate whether or not it was a warning to us to avoid the  area; or an alert to them that they may avoid us.

I opt for the latter scenario, but Lyle is almost equally sure of the first.

The hall and its environs are well appointed, and will likely give up many a treasure to us and our persistence. Later.

Day Forty Nine PM #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

I wanted to go after Lyle. Really I did. But circumstances have intervened and scotched that notion. The intruder activity between myself and where Lyle should be has exploded beyond what I have ever seen before. Probably the result of his drone flying over this area yesterday.

I’m beginning to think that he was trying to get a message to me. But perhaps that was his meaning – a warning to get out of here.

It was a slow process but I was able to get it all down in five trips. There has been no intruder activity here at all on this side of the wall. I put my drone up and have confirmed that no intruder is watching me.

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.