The Path

I need to slip away.  Let the world spin without me for a couple hours. It’s easy to forget how blessed I am when things get hectic, yet when life is busy, that’s the time to slow down. Steal a quiet moment. Reflect on my good fortune.

I live on the old homestead. I don’t have to travel to get away. I simply scramble down the bluff, sit on the edge of the flats beside the duck ponds, and ponder.

There’s an old set of stairs at the base of the bank. Actually, only two tiers, but a suitable seat. I did a bit of rural recycling so the steps could outlive their intended purpose. The top platform resides in the yard overlooking the flats, its weathered mossy wood providing contrast for colorful flower baskets, something I set out every summer until Mom passed away.

I lugged the bottom rows to the base of the bluff with the starry-eyed notion that this would provide an ideal vantage point for sipping coffee on lazy mornings while quietly watching ducks, geese, cranes and the myriad of other critters sharing the homestead. Was quixotic really. Who was I kidding; I’m not a morning person.

Still, it’s an ideal spot. Sixty seconds away from my rocking chair. And I seldom use it. I’m not sure why, probably because it’s always there.

But tonight I arrive home from work, peer at the drab sky as it threatens rain, and hear the soft call of neglected stairs. I grab my camera, a book of poetry and a notepad, and drop over the bank. Sixty seconds from my easy chair. A world away from the rest of the earth.

I read. I write. I watch birds and listen to a quiet that teems with life. And things start coming back into focus. I think my poet friend for the evening has it right. “On a path that leads to Nowhere I have sometimes found my soul.”

 

 

(The Path That Leads To Nowhere is by Corinne Roosevelt Robinson)