I stop in my tracks

stretch the hunched spine

weighted with the burdens

assembled from

too many hours

alone on the trail

it is time to shake some off

and look ahead

facing the wind

as it blows down from

the unknown ahead.

Can't move ahead

unless from time to time

I remember whence I started out.

So I look back and

re-trace my starting point

and wonder, even now

why I started the journey.

Was the road the pull

to walk or did

a goal beyond the bend

shuffle my feet in this direction?

As I straighten out

and lift my head

from watching only the landing

of my next step

I see the open skies

and raising my tribute

to the canopy of light

the road is swallowed

by the vista

traveled through,

not really seen.

I have been guilty

all along

of losing sight of

the worthwhile 'now',

dreaming only of a 'then'.

I have walked this open road

with closed mind

and no companionship

was ever less conducive

to understanding

than this uneven match.

The wandering jew in me

had trailed the tendrils

of the desired goal

through the dust

and I had never known

that travelling

is the art of being here

in one place after the other

as the feet can stride.

I have walked too fast

and gotten nowhere

I have looked ahead too much

and hated it

when the road came to a bend

I could not see the marigolds

and liverwort attending me

because the beauty that is here

was blurred by the invisible ahead

What travelling fool

will rush through

wonders

losing sight of moments

filled with exquisite pleasure

for a goal

imagined only?

The one that travels

down the open road

with a solidly

closed mind.

So I stand, windblown

and apologize to the road

that in seeing it

I took it's disappearing

up ahead

to be the urge

to rush along

unheeding, blind.

Now I see the road ahead

and promise it

another mode of walking.

Now, before it is too late.