Take a knee

There is an image in my mind. The one above is but a shadow of the emotion attached to the one I see. It is of the warrior, immediately after a battle. He is clearly exhausted. It is cold, cold enough to see the vapor in his breathe as he exhales deeply, as if having just run a race. Steam seems to be coming from his body, through his armour, evidence of how hard he has fought. The dark, blue haze in the air only makes him feel colder, and more fatigued. And yet as he comes here he is strangely refreshed. He is not here to rest. As he takes to one knee he places his fist, knuckles down, in the dirt, and bows his head. He is here to take orders. Orders from his King. He knows he must go on. He knows that he must return to the battle. But without His presence, he cannot continue. This is my secret place