It’s morning again and I don’t know which path to take.
I turned right and then right again. Then, after a short walk, I turned right once more to go through the passageway between houses.
Taking the right path is important to me. It’ll take me to the best destination.
I intend to turn right at the end of this road onto another, very long road but a sudden twinge in my hip makes me wonder if I’ll be able to reach my destination.
Being strong enough to reach the end of the chosen road is important. It’s a cold day for stopping, and resting will be uncomfortable.
As I walk this long road, always going forward, never stopping, I feel the breeze leaching warmth from my skin. The season is turning. Autumn approaching. The leaves shiver on the trees and we all know that a fall is inevitable. I watch the sky. Clouds. I watch the path. Wet. I watch the birds and the people passing by. They ignore me utterly.
The journey is as important as the destination. The journey will determine the shape you’re in when you reach the end. Every step, glance and impression will form you. Transform you.
I see the next curve before me. Around it is the end. Should I walk on?
The path ends.