A road. Not quite two lanes wide: in fact, closer to one lane wide where it squeezes between a cow pasture and a tall oak woods. It is blacktopped. My remote, little corner of the world no longer has the quaint, dirt roads lined with dog roses and daisies. A sign of the times, I reckon. Blacktop and all, though, they still meander in their narrow little way, up and down over the sides of creek hollows.
"A cowpath." my dad used to say. He was never much for the fourlanes, or the fast lane. Unless he was off to see some wonder of the world--as described by a farming neighbor, or my mom. Mom was keen on seeing those sights that defied a ho-hum reaction. Both of them liked to be amazed.
Amazed...the places where roads took them. But they always came home to the farm, following roads until they came to their little winding cowpaths. And life was good. Simple people, life's roads took them on a humble journey. They lived, they laughed, and loved... all fitting the humble roads of life they traveled.
Roads as a metaphor for life's journey, has been well-used over time.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood." is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of roads in that respect.
Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" is a shining example.
We can be on the road to riches, the road to ruin, or the road to hell paved with good intention. And I am sure that all of us have stood at a fork in the road. And lest we forget, "The Road is long, with many a winding turn...that lead us to who knows...where..." written by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.
I-- for one, am on the road to getting my first book published. :-)
I have never strayed far off of the cowpaths. Even so, the years go by and roads change. Perhaps, the sign of the times is a metaphor for my life. The laid back simplicity of a dirt road is long gone. Most cowpaths have been replaced by paved and lined highways that are faster and busier. And no one stops to smell the roses or pick the daisies.
Maybe I am just getting old. Let me check my rear view mirror- yep, a lot of road behind me now. But, I smile as the memories of my journeys ripple through my mind, crossing time. I can't help but think...the roads I have chosen (or, perhaps have chosen me) have brought me to a good place.
And that, my friend, is all that matters.
