The Road Most Travelled

A trail of cowpats.

I’m taking the road most travelled and I’m making it my own. How? Listen up and I’ll tell you.

She says to me that I’m … oh, all sorts of things. I could give you a numbered list, but you’d be bored by #6 (you don’t listen) and comatose by #13 (you’re selfish). Thing is: everyone, by and large, has the same list. They are the common complaints of mankind.

So I walk out. I’m sure that you would too. There’s only so much unillumination a light bulb can absorb before it goes dark.

Oh, don’t worry – I don’t go far. Just to the river and back. And there’s always a way back. Which kind of beings me nicely to my point.

The road less traveled leads away and it never leads back. The road most travelled loops around and around and around until it cuts a groove into the psyche. A habit is formed. We become addicted to ourself as we are. We get stuck.

But I’m owning this road by walking it on purpose.

And then there’s all sorts of stuff I planned to tell you about lemons and lemonade; cowpats and fertiliser; and base-metal into gold. But I know that this will just become another list.

But here’s the thing: it’s a list until you start living it. It’s a road until you start building by it. It’s only life until you grab it by the balls and make it your own.

Anyhoo, it’s raining now so I’ll have to get a trot on. Have a nice day. Laters. šŸ™‚

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