”Twenty minutes,” he muttered. “In another twenty minutes the flood tide starts, and then we won’t be going anywhere but back to the dike. And those storks will go under. Kid, if you ever rowed, row now.”
In a story, the author sets up
An impossible situation. Almost.
There remains a thin hope that the chain of events
Leading to this moment will end
Not in disaster,
But success.
A thin hope.
And so books tutor me in faith,
That the delicate orchestration
Wrought by a Master Storyteller
With but a thin hope threading through
May end in success
In my story, too.
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