Winding Road

Ruminations on the unattainable

A winding road; dusty, desolate, a derelict wanderer lost in his travels. Soaked in shade, shimmering in sunlight, an unmarked trail no one knows. Sprawling yet secret, eternal yet ephemeral; the road less traveled by those never seen. Unintentionally circumvent, it meanders across the landscape, showing its solidarity to none but the silent. It is the paradox perpetually searched for, the solution forever unattainable. An ideal never fully realized, a wish remaining with the stars. It is everything desired, everything forbidden, laughing like the brook it parallels, scorning satisfaction’s feeble assault. Blissful obscurity is all its ignorance knows, but for those searching it, ignorance is hardly bliss. Many seek it, more become lost. Its existence is never sincerely doubted, despite its baffling elusiveness. Can’t a peak’s summit be reached by those who strive long enough? Yet a promise only it remains; picturesque and perfect, anything more a mirage. Merely a shimmer, and a delicate whisper - of loathing, and of gall. For does a road that no one knows, really wind at all?