[A little camp-inspired prose]
In evening fog, a shadow tenses to hear intruders.
All night, it has cut through darkness, when
suddenly fear and wonder meet in our eyes.
I am given a gracious moment of consideration.
In it I wonder:
How can I have more of the Spirit than you?
I, who never chose careful and silent paths across the grass?
I, who never paused to consider goodness, one foot hovering?
I, who never listened?