We ran through the night, through the old and tired places. Red faced and loud and full of trouble. We ran wild and the night retreated from us. Everywhere we stepped, the sun split up from the earth and broke the clouds above us. Where there was stillness, we made noise and the earth trembled with our passing. We leapt from mountains and dove into the sea and then back to land with great breaths of the frozen air. We sat round the fire and we ate and drank and sang and the world was silenced with the beating of our hearts. We are not flowers that bloom again and again. We are not beasts who know nothing of tomorrow. We run and we run the race marked out for us. We never stop, must never stop. What else can be done with such reckless hope? -Mighty Thomas, 17:1:6

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