Thursday, October 26, 2017
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
Imagine open country roads, a sappy metaphor for my new life.
Imagine coming upon an intersection on such a road, a hand-painted wooden sign posting the choice of paths: this way, that way, the other way. In my mind, the sign's wood is ashen, weathered from rain and time, the paint lettering is white, faded from sunshine.
Barely two months ago, I ventured down such a road. I was alone but not lonely. For two years I've been driving by myself in his car: slow Sundays to the fast-lane-to-nowhere evenings.
I sat at the intersection, pondering as you might say when facing wide open fields of decision. Which way should I go?
I chose the other way. No hesitation.
Sticking to mostly dusty back roads, steering or as a passenger but now in a brand new convertible, music is always playing, the sun warms my face, and the wind blows through my hair.
I know I made the right turn.