My eyes are focused on the gravel that crumbles beneath my feet. There really is no discernible path, with tones of dirt and grey spreading as far as my downcast eyes could see. My calves are tightening up with the strain of the distance I have traveled while my mind is burdened by the miles I still face. My face must be streaked with sweat and dust by now. The monotonous nature of this hike leaves a void in my mind that a dark imagination is eager to fill. For a moment I allow the people who've hurt me an encore performance.
Then I lift my head up and notice for the first time the divine spidery motifs of naked branches, how they sprawl out in all directions, as if scrawled out in frantic motions by a jittery artist and his black pencil. A breeze lifted my fringe from my face for a second and carried with it my fatigue. I'm hearing things I've never heard before, as if I've been deafened by the sound of my own thoughts all this time. I hear things that couldn't possibly make sounds, but I hear it all the same. I hear my future, unmistakably, and the joyful optimism of a time to come. I chose to hold my head high from that moment on.
No comments:
Post a Comment