At every turn I've taken the road less traveled - the road with the most interesting turns and twists and overhanging branches. When I stumbled across a mark, or map...or directions cut in the stone by some wizened traveler before me...I always took the other path. I called the path my own, although in reality it may have been nothing more than the path which was not the road.
Yet now, I worry that the road less traveled may serve only to leave you lost in the woods with no way to retrace your steps; that perhaps the directions were cut in the stone as a warning...not as a crutch for the unadventurous.
I look back at the trail I've cut through the brush, and then across to the old rutted road leading to the village, and mourn for the things my trail has taught me to desire - the things which only the road can provide.
To what fallen angel did God give the task of numbering our years? And is it the master, or the servant, who laughs each time an arrogant traveler wanders for a year into the woods?
Yet now, I worry that the road less traveled may serve only to leave you lost in the woods with no way to retrace your steps; that perhaps the directions were cut in the stone as a warning...not as a crutch for the unadventurous.
I look back at the trail I've cut through the brush, and then across to the old rutted road leading to the village, and mourn for the things my trail has taught me to desire - the things which only the road can provide.
To what fallen angel did God give the task of numbering our years? And is it the master, or the servant, who laughs each time an arrogant traveler wanders for a year into the woods?
leola:
You'll find your way... I think your way sounds much better than those with crutches. And that they are. 