Without Sense or Direction
In the photographs, the path is always straight,
leading over bridges, into the woods, through the fields.
Straight and beckoning,
a safety in it, a certainty, a comfort in the knowing
where you are going and where you have been,
a sense to it all, past and future.
Here and there, paths coverage.
Often there are signs, markers, paint on the trail.
“Go this way to get here,”
My life has not been such a trail.
It winds, disappears into the rocks,
emerges, takes odd turns, nothing in its direction
even hints at the destination.
An Alice in Wonderland thing, without maps,
clambers up hills and down, disappears again,
makes you wait or walk aimlessly
until it peeks out again,
a flirting teenager at the school dance,
looking at you for a second and then looking away,
leaving you anticipating, and not quite sure,
a flutter in your stomach.
It takes courage to follow such a path,
courage, recklessness, and a sense of wonder,
a willingness to live lost for a time, and
trust that the lostness is part of the journey.
About this poem.
Inspired by an offhand comment from a friend (Thanks Deb!) on Facebook. One that reminded me of a truth worth remembering.