Bridging the Road

In my weariness, I followed the tracks of a road thinking it would be less tiring than the trail. Later, I noticed walking within the ruts was more exhausting since I was neither a snake nor did I have wheels.

I was relieved to come upon a river which flowed sleek and long and obliterated the damn ruts. It was a wide river with slow moving waters and no bridge. I sat down to watch.

Everywhere I had traveled, I had seen signs of others but I had met no one. Perhaps if I stayed in one place, this place, and waited someone would come along - someone who had been where I was going, someone who knew an easier way.

I became uneasy and backed away from the river's edge. I was not certain whether the river or the road carried the source of my concern and I was caught between them. I stood and turned to watch the road. It was familiar and familiarity evokes a comfort, of sorts.

In my weariness, I slipped and fell into the river that had no bed. Nothing floated on it. It could be called empty, even unfamiliar.

Now,  I am where I am going, wherever the river carries me.

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