If it had been up to him,

The whole lot of them would be gone.

But

Unfortunately,

( like most things that seemed to occupy his days),

He had no control over it.

So he sulked down the road leading

back towards the

Small wooden house that he so dearly called home,

the harvest moon lighting the path with

blue and

white and

steadfast light. And he got to thinking.

“What if I never came back?”

It was a simple thought. But it held more weight than

any of the psalms he sang at choir practice.

It was practical. (And most certainly achievable.)

“What if I left tonight. And never came back?”

It sounded even sweeter the second time.

He couldn’t help himself but to say it

Out loud.

“What if I left tonight… (and never came back?)”

He hung on each syllable with such intensity that this

One,

Simple phrase drew every ounce

(of breath) from his lungs, and he

Dropped

To his knees.

And there he sat. In the moonlight.

On the dirt road between the church and his home.