Delayed reaction

In the beginning there was a flurry of internal panic and a sense of the necessity of the battening down of hatches.
Circling of wagons.
Counting of heads.
FEMA response to disaster relief.

Out of the fog, walked the army.
Out of the depths of the Mysts walked the cavalry.
Prepared and calm, ready and true of heart.

They brought all, they did all.
All I could do was assist, handing the scalpel as they, with a practiced surgical hand, cut away and stitched together the fresh wounds. I swabbed when need arose.

Now that healing is ready to begin, I am reminded, by music, of unspoken things.

There are 3 days.
3 days left to endure.
With the approach of The Day, may I not grown faint in deeds needing to be done.

The answer I prayed for has come in 6 pieces.
3 are the foundation.
3 greet the new day.

Though my heart dares not hope it, I pray that it will always BE so.
Old things are indeed passed and new things can become real.

For the interim, my own crash has arrived.
Unexpected and glorious, in its terrible tempest.
The winds blow and change their direction hourly.
The waves rise and toss and I am as flotsam and jetsam upon such a sea and yet...
there is a haven and an island that is solid and steady.
My feet dangle and twirl in the surf, awaiting contact with it once again,
knowing it will come.