Plow Hoarse

This little voice keeps telling me to, keep my head down and plow forward. It seems that the further I go there's more debris to clog the road. It is broken in some places gale force winds are ever present sheer drop offs on either side the sky spits blue ice most of the time. The voice also tells me to dress the soul in layers. but a person can only layer up and plow so much before the heart overheats and the soul comes to an abrupt stop... When the little voice becomes too hoarse to comprehend. Maybe this is when God coddles the reigns, Guiding this swayback toward the light and on toward St. Peters gate.