Two roads diverged in the wood. I didn’t know which to take so I sat down at that grassy fork, back to the red covered bridge and waited. Waited for wisdom, for clarity, waited for Robert to show up.
I waited for one of the roads to look less wonderfully new or less devastatingly familiar than the other.
Waited for one of the roads to look less devastatingly new or less wonderfully familiar than the other.
I sat and I waited. And I sit and wait there still. At the boundary. At the borderland. At la frontera. At the fork in the road. At the choice.
I’ve been here once before. I thought it was picturesque and I captured the moment on my film and on my heart and walked away. Little did I know that life doesn’t let you walk away. It brings you back in a circle to the question and the decision you were avoiding all along.
It’s not all bad at this crossroads. Like I said, picturesque. But I can’t stay here forever and I can’t run away again.
So I look, I observe, I capture, I write. I stand for a while and then I sit again. I’ve made this grass and gravel into quite a throne. It has come down to this, like it always does. A moment in time, a decision, a future. It can get overwhelming if you let it, but I fear to let significance slip through my fingers.
I’m still here waiting and Robert, I wish you would come and give me some direction. But I have to travel this road alone, don’t I? At least for now. At least in this. There are a million branching rivers in front of me and I have to take these steps on my own. Not lacking companionship, but gaining self. I wonder who I’ll meet in the wood. I guess I have to take a right or left before I can find out.
But I don’t know where to turn. And it could make all the difference.