Other Days, Other Roads

There is a road from my place to the rest of the world.

Perhaps along parallel steel lines…their curve reflecting that gentle bend of time, lives met, lives never having connected. Or along the coast…as waves hint at colours from distant travels. I wonder…has this colour, this tide travelled this far too? My steady tromping on urban trails…pavement…past storied buildings and markers…who once was here to bear witness?  And yet here again in the wilderness – the meandering path amongst the tall ones, mosses, and ferns. Do these branches reach skyward to the heavens for the spark of life…Nature’s Sistine Chapel?

This day the sounds from Raven on the hillside…my winged friend coaxing my ears towards him/her only to watch as its feathered form bounces high amongst the leafy branches. Their chuckle, their spark, from within their natural blinds, clear evidence of laughter directed towards my gentle sadness in not finding them within the frame…another day my friend…another day.

I wander past spur-lines and slack heaps, mines, quarries, and the people-places of once before. Always with an objective but also too with an open eye to the touch of our kind in between. These may be rural or urban, familiar, or whimsical, in deep forest or on open plains. My friends sometimes speak of this past or these musings are my self discoveries…the sparks of serendipitous stories within the naturally painted walls of nature. 

This day – I introduce these other roads…these other days. Follow along, if you will, these musings…these pages a record of my thoughts of what was once before or continues this day.

Images by Paul Ferguson