The road drags on

Out into the vast distance

Its dust, blanket enfolded

Stretching out its forked

tongue, sometimes cumbersome

sometimes joy beyond refrain.

Often to the lowly traveler

beckoned  forward out past

horizons never fathomed

snaked upon winding roads

sometimes curved, and sometimes rugged

yet no blame can fall

upon the chosen path.

All devices and illusions

brought together by our choice

from departing consequence

to arriving destination

we, not the path are its creator.

Some, though waylaid, stop

along the trail a time or two

a destination -not the goal

but rather in the journey itself.

What of my journey?

Is there joy?  Fulfillment?

How often have I become consumed?

Overtaken by life’s ebbs and flows?

Can I start again?  Certainly not

from the original beginning…

but I know I must and so I take

the next turn and with the breeze

at my back, I smile and take

in each breath, each moment

a gift and not a curse.