From his marrow to his soul, there is only the road, each step he takes, closer than the last to “who knows where?” Not running away from where he’s been, just seeking whatever lies ahead, he’s got to get there as fast as he can, dreams of laying his burden down the moment he’s sure he’s finally arrived.
His shoelace comes untied. Kneeling in the gravel on the side of the road, he looks up to see a stranger walking ahead. He watches the stranger disappear over the next rise, wonders if he will vanish there too.
No rumble of engines, just the buzz of a bee. He watches as it vanishes into a sea of wildflowers. He sees the sun poke through the clouds, considers the best direction to head. Should he follow the stranger or follow the bee?
a spring breeze
ripples the meadow . . .
his kite
hovers for a moment
then zigzags through the sky
