Pioneering was a bitch when only a homestead mattered.
Now we’re walking far.
We are good work, not following, not Crusade nor War, these are only mileposts we see with our poor mind. History is made of spirit, trundle and baggage yes, but glint and spark as well.
Our foot is heavy, but it does lift. We stay along the good trail, our gift many travel, seared in blizzard maybe, but convinced of virtue’s key.
We too are ancestors.