How freeing it is to reach into the unknown,
to ponder distant paths,
to worlds open, endless,
to journey deeper,
to what could become more.
Clouds drift by, misguided.
What I think I understand drifts right over my head,
the detritus of others like footprints,
faint, gray outlines and mine.
I map the furrows, narrow; struggle,
close an eye and follow still,
beneath broad shadows on my back and ask:
how much deeper the impression,
how more permanent the fade if I stay.
“It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive.” —Robert Louis Stevenson