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theonecalledwanderSometimes the road widens ahead of me. It never branches, but it does widen. No matter how many times this happens, my heart always quickens its beat… or I assume it must do, wherever it’s gone off to.
I never know when or where the road will widen. I rarely even know how long it’s been since the last time. There are things to see along the way, but not much to do.
When the road widens, it means I have arrived. Not at my destination, for I have none, but at the next place… the next stop along the way to the stop after it. Some of them are literally nothing but wide spots on the road. Many are places in their own right, places big enough and real enough that I lose sight of my road for a while until I come to the other end of it and the road narrows again.
There’s always something to do in these places, something to learn or someone to meet or some problem to solve before I can move on.
And I always must move on. I must always return to the road. When I’m on the road, I can’t help but hope to reach the next wide spot soon. When I’m off it, I can’t wait to be back. My recollection… dim with time… is that this meant to be a punishment or curse of some kind. Parts of it can be hard to bear, but on the whole I don’t mind.
Who doesn’t like to travel? Who doesn’t like to feel useful? I am never satisfied but frequently happy.
I never know when or where the road will widen. I rarely even know how long it’s been since the last time. There are things to see along the way, but not much to do.
When the road widens, it means I have arrived. Not at my destination, for I have none, but at the next place… the next stop along the way to the stop after it. Some of them are literally nothing but wide spots on the road. Many are places in their own right, places big enough and real enough that I lose sight of my road for a while until I come to the other end of it and the road narrows again.
There’s always something to do in these places, something to learn or someone to meet or some problem to solve before I can move on.
And I always must move on. I must always return to the road. When I’m on the road, I can’t help but hope to reach the next wide spot soon. When I’m off it, I can’t wait to be back. My recollection… dim with time… is that this meant to be a punishment or curse of some kind. Parts of it can be hard to bear, but on the whole I don’t mind.
Who doesn’t like to travel? Who doesn’t like to feel useful? I am never satisfied but frequently happy.