I pass you on the early morning roadway, a quick dot in my vision.
You are shrouded in a land of mist, walking endlessly to a destination unknown. The backpack on your shoulders looks heavier than all the bones in your body. Your head is bowed beneath your dingy baseball cap, maybe counting each step in front of you. Maybe counting the steps left to home. I imagine your face, youthful yet old. Worn down by a thousand passing cars that create a new roadway, a new wrinkle, on your face each day.
And then you are a reflection in my rearview mirror, sending you back, back, backwards to where you came from. I will reach a hundred places before you even reach one.
But you keep walking towards that unknown place. I hope you get there, one step at time.
|Image credit Cliff Johnson|