Adi and I set out on a walk through the quiet streets of Washington, D.C. The air was crisper than back home on the Gulf. I miss that ole’ island.

Like a friend who knows all my moods—the smell of salt, the steady hum of the tide, the gulls that never ask for much, only to be noticed.

“Let’s find a labyrinth,” Adi said. “A labyrinth? Here? In D.C.?” “The city is full of them. Follow me.”

So we walked. Through streets too empty for the Capitol dome standing just beyond the trees. The kind of quiet that feels rehearsed. It was as if the world had paused mid-sentence. Power waiting on permission to breathe. By the Potomac, we found the labyrinth—alone, ringed by trees that had forgotten to turn. Autumn was late, or maybe pretending. The river didn’t seem to care. It kept moving.

God said, “Pay attention to who I bring to you.”

He never shouts. Just speaks plainly. And when He does, the air changes. Across the water, a rowing crew cut through the silence, their coach barking orders through a broken megaphone. It was the only sound that felt alive. We stepped into the labyrinth. The stones curved in their patient pattern, and our feet followed.

Then came the boy. Seven, maybe eight. He ran straight in as if the path were his to make. To him there were no rules—only movement. It was my own need for order that called it otherwise. His laughter rang like truth, scattering the stillness of the city. I smiled. God had kept His word and deliver messages I didn’t know I needed. The boy rejoined his father and disappeared into the park.

Three adults followed—two women and a man. They entered the labyrinth, five of us now circling in quiet harmony. The man, gray at the temples, began to smile like a child remembering something he once knew. For a moment, the world felt whole again—child, woman, man, river, and God. Outside the circle, systems slept. Inside it, life moved on. Maybe that’s what He meant. That no matter how many false horses of control the world parades through its gates, the soul still remembers how to run free.

This week, walk your path with quiet faith.

David