Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Musing the Fork

It came out like a river once I let it out
When I thought that I wouldn't know how
Held onto it forever just pushing it down
Felt so good to let go of it now
No wrapping this in ribbons
Shouldn't have to give a reason why
Chris Daughtry, No Surprise

I've been sitting at the fork. Somewhat bidding my time. You know, that place where the road divides in a yellow wood. Bittersweet, this spot. Feels like home, like all the things you've grown up with and love and have come to expect that they will just always be there. When you need them.

My mind seems like a hardwood ridge to me right now. In my head... Beautiful trees, maples, birches and a few spread out beeches. It is the peak of fall and a multitude of reds, yellows and browns litter the ground beneath. It is fun to run through the trees, trying not to slip on the decaying undergrowth or to snag my foot on rogue roots where the dirt has eroded away.

When I was a kid I would walk the lane across the street from my home, for hours. Lost in thought. Admiring the beauty. Afraid of nothing, even though my mother tried her best to terrify me of bears (which I never once saw). Life to me was like a hardwood ridge. You climbed to the top and it seemed as though a trail was possible whichever way you looked. I never tired of this and I never concerned myself with making a wrong turn or not finding my way back. Such was impossible.

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