Yeesha’s Journal 04
I am sick of the Grower.
Oh yes, some believe in the prophecies that predict the restoration of D’ni-the fallen city of D’ni would grow. There were attempts before, and there will be attempts again. But they always fail.
Even those my Father tried. They learned great things of the Made and the Maker. They learned of the Bahro, the Least, and of deeper truths. They learned of Father, and his wisdom in rebuilding and rewriting.
The D’ni city came alive again, for a time. The dead were properly buried and the living were properly cared for. D’ni took short, labored breaths. Sap flowed, though the tree did not grow, for there was no grower.
Even Father did not see then as I do now.
I had not come.
I am the Grower.
I failed.
And I think of myself as worthy? I am nothing-the failed child, of failed parents, of failed grandparents. How many generations must fail before we give up? Why do I try?
I have failed with the Tablet already. There are no second chances here.
And yet I long to hold it, and try once more.
