Some choose the winding road through an unknown dark woods in search of fairies. Others choose the straight, narrow, sun-drenched road -- a dry sandy track through an endless desert with no trees or obstacles or anything to block the view -- but bolts from the blue always manage to veer them off course, and they, too, end up on roads with no street lamps, or lost in a dark jungle with no roads at all, asking questions that have no answers. In the end, there is no straight road and fairies don’t exist; there is no life by questioning. Our lives are inhabited by gnarled tree roots and slippery, hairpin mountain roads. Loved ones step into and out of our lives. Questions remain unanswered. Memory becomes like a treasure chest, full of hopes and hopes lost, love and love lost, memories good and bad woven into a gold-threaded tapestry.
Posted on: Wed, 16 Apr 2014 11:31:39 +0000
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