Bill Hoffman

In The Glen, Amidst The Flowers

Oh, how I wish you could have been here when Father and I made our way into the glen. Discouraged we were for several days after our separation from you and the others, for we couldn’t figure when and where we strayed from the caravan. During that mighty storm is when our segregation most certainly happened. Who would have thought it would maintain such a ferocity for days on end? We couldn’t see the wagons before us or behind, and the deluge flowing from the hills impeded all attempts to stay on course with an almost malicious intent. Father, staunch in his faith, believed that the storm displayed such vigor that the Noahic Covenant most certainly had been broken, but I urged he keep his thoughts to himself, lest we forget what holy scorn can be delivered for such comments. Lacking the skill to backtrack, trebled with diminishing provisions and waning optimism, hope of seeing you again all but faded.