And lo, it shall come to pass in the five-and-twentieth year of the Second Decade of the Third Millennium, that the brethren of the Most Honourable and Ancient Lodge of St. Olaf shall prepare for a journey long-awaited — the Great Sabbatical of 2025.
Whispers of the coming rite shall pass through tavern and temple, over pipe and pint, like the stirrings of old magic, rekindled. The time of reckoning shall draw near, and a company — noble in heart though modest in number — shall be summoned by tradition, oath, and thirst (both for knowledge and for ale).
From the archives of memory, four wise Past Masters shall be called forth — elder brethren, seasoned by years and rites uncounted. Their eyes, deep with the knowing of Sabbaticals past, shall hold the solemn joy of those who have wandered far and returned to tell the tale. Their charge shall be great: to guide, to guard, and to gather the young aspirants who will walk the road in their wake.
Six Master Masons of stout heart and clear mind — green of face but bold of spirit — shall answer the call. No longer apprentices, yet untested by the rigours of the Sabbatical, they shall come eager to prove their worth and earn their place in the song of years to come.
Upon the seventh day of June, when the sun rides high and the wind is warm with the breath of summer, they shall stand as one outside the gates of the Mother Lodge. The stones of St. Olaf’s shall bear silent witness, as they have through the ages, to yet another chapter beginning beneath their gaze.
The Past Masters, robed not in silver or velvet, but in well-worn tweed and pride well-earned, shall lead the company forth. Spirits shall be high and sandals stout, as they turn their faces toward that storied path: The Road and the Miles to Dundee — a road older than memory, laden with tales of trials, triumphs, and the occasional traffic delay.
Their destination shall be a place of rest and feasting, the Taza Emporium — a buffet of Eastern delight where the spices of many lands meet the steel of Scottish resolve. There shall they sup, and speak, and laugh — forging bonds that no mortal time may sever.
With dawn’s golden breath upon their backs, the brethren shall set forth anew on the Eighth day, the Sabbath of their pilgrimage. Their course shall lead them to Perth — proud jewel of the North — where horse and man alike shall meet in contest before the eyes of all kin.
Perth Races, that hallowed gathering of Scots from each of the Four Corners, shall unfold before them in pomp and pageantry. Cheers shall rise like thunder, and wagers shall fall like rain. There shall be victories shouted, and defeats muttered into cups, but all shall be as it ought — honourable, reckless, and fleeting.
Some shall claim gold, others glory, but each man shall take from that field what gold cannot buy: remembrance.
And thus, with hearts light and tales heavy, the company shall return whence they came. But the Sabbatical, once begun, shall never truly end — for it shall live on in story, in laughter, and in ink.
Upon their return, it is said that their deeds and misdeeds, their fortunes and footnotes, shall be committed to parchment and pen. In the Chronicles of the Most Noble Brotherhood of St. Olaf, beside the annals of years gone by, this Sabbatical of 2025 shall take its rightful place — not as mere record, but as legend.
And so, the tale shall go ever on and on…
To be written in the twilight of the Age of Zoom, in the month of June, by the hand of an appointed chronicler, under the watchful gaze of the Great Square and Compass.