I had reached full stop in my efforts.
The planning completed enough,
The doing remained . . .
And the doing was not happening.
In anguish, I cried aloud to the Lord
As I drove the backroads in the fall.
A quarter of an hour,
Passionately seeking help.
The next hour: the possibility of coaching.
Something I had not really considered,
But that shimmered before me
As water to a traveler dying of thirst.
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