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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 06/05/2015
Funny how that road goes.
Not once on the path that turns into a road,
that then roars into a super Highway and turns slowly back in a path,
did I look for signs.
Now, near the end of the road, I can see them all:
the forks, the places with no shoulders, the potholes,
the smooth section, the detours, the rest areas, the traffic jams,
the lonely sections where something off the road makes you cry, or laugh,
or smile, or stare in awe.
I see the little towns of my life, the big towns, the lonely corners, and the empty fields. I see the mountain lakes of memories, deep, cool, still. I see the long lazy summers, hidden both by childhood, and old age. I see gem like parts of the road, the parts filled with love, laughter, dancing, and quiet talks that mostly pillows hear.
I remember the sounds of play. I remember playing sounds, on the transistor radio first, then in a car, with the windows down, no power steering, no air-conditioning, but two bucks of gas, your girl, and your best friend and his girl, riding through the valleys. Riding on a road covered with youth, the slickest, slipperiest, subtly devine and, of course, sexiest time on the road.
Then the road hits the highway: Marriage, children, career, ownership of things, if not ourselves. This part of the road speeds by so fast, that until you hit the toll booth- and life has taken its toll- you don’t even recognize that you are old, way older than you look, and if you are lucky, you feel way younger too. Sometimes, it takes a while to realize you left the highway. Some…never do.
You are back on the path again. The path that you life first started with. It is a grassy path, soft with dirt and sand, flowers stuck at random, and it is filled with solitude. Not loneliness, that is for the folks who took the wrong road and stare back at the emptiness of stuff, possessions, things. But for most of us, it is not loneliness on this last gently winding path, it is solitude. It is peace. The signs are all there, followed by a sigh:
"I took the right road. It led me here. And here…is just fine."
The road(Kevin Hughes)
Funny how that road goes.
Not once on the path that turns into a road,
that then roars into a super Highway and turns slowly back in a path,
did I look for signs.
Now, near the end of the road, I can see them all:
the forks, the places with no shoulders, the potholes,
the smooth section, the detours, the rest areas, the traffic jams,
the lonely sections where something off the road makes you cry, or laugh,
or smile, or stare in awe.
I see the little towns of my life, the big towns, the lonely corners, and the empty fields. I see the mountain lakes of memories, deep, cool, still. I see the long lazy summers, hidden both by childhood, and old age. I see gem like parts of the road, the parts filled with love, laughter, dancing, and quiet talks that mostly pillows hear.
I remember the sounds of play. I remember playing sounds, on the transistor radio first, then in a car, with the windows down, no power steering, no air-conditioning, but two bucks of gas, your girl, and your best friend and his girl, riding through the valleys. Riding on a road covered with youth, the slickest, slipperiest, subtly devine and, of course, sexiest time on the road.
Then the road hits the highway: Marriage, children, career, ownership of things, if not ourselves. This part of the road speeds by so fast, that until you hit the toll booth- and life has taken its toll- you don’t even recognize that you are old, way older than you look, and if you are lucky, you feel way younger too. Sometimes, it takes a while to realize you left the highway. Some…never do.
You are back on the path again. The path that you life first started with. It is a grassy path, soft with dirt and sand, flowers stuck at random, and it is filled with solitude. Not loneliness, that is for the folks who took the wrong road and stare back at the emptiness of stuff, possessions, things. But for most of us, it is not loneliness on this last gently winding path, it is solitude. It is peace. The signs are all there, followed by a sigh:
"I took the right road. It led me here. And here…is just fine."
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