The Last Crusade

Most of his mature life had been a process of recoiling and mending. Until late he had not suspected that this prolonged retreat had been his lot. He thought he was building bricks, constructing a living edifice while in realty he was engaged in an epic dismantling. He thought he had made inroads, woven together great journeys, drawing to himself many pathways toward a destination or purpose. Yet of late, he felt that his life had been a slow withdrawing, a giving way disguised as steps forward. Despite this new understanding he sensed a strange vindication, as if it were more noble to give way and draw back. The battle at last lost, the surrender acknowledged; today he whistles a tune that the thorn bushes sing when a homeless wind rattles through them.