Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Quote of the Week

"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas means a little bit more." -Dr. Seuss

Bravery/ Faith by Josh Skalski


Someone once said that if you don’t know where you’re going any road you walk will take you there. For me, I think that in some cases that this may be true. Although I stumble a lot, and the roads I take usually lead me back home, so I’ve come to expect this outcome. The roads wind and twist most of the time. I have passed by a great variety of people(?) and places and buildings that all call to me without end. Sometimes I stop in the road and watch the people(?) who live away from the road, on the edge of the forest, on the edge of a world I have no knowledge of. They interact so much more differently than we do at home. They are touchier, more tender, more loving, caring: family. I occasionally consider straying from my path to go and meet them. But I look back to the road and I remember the saying. I’m hoping that my destination waits for me at the end of one of these paths. I am afraid to veer off my path. My path is smoothly paved and lined with flowers of a golden yellow. The flowers seem to almost stretch towards me. The homes off the sides of the path are usually surrounded by grass of brown and green. Their appearance puts me off. They are run-down and happy at the same time. I keep walking. And I keep walking. And walking still. My surroundings change, becoming more familiar and comforting. I keep walking. Less familiar. Ephemeral. I see people(?) a little ways away from the road. I call to them. They don’t answer; they don’t even look at me. I stop and I call again. They stay silent. At this point I am angry. I glance down to the edge of the road. I look back up. I clench my hands into fists. I breathe. I step off the road. I expect explosions, and screams. But nothing happens. I walk towards them. I blink and they are farther away. I pick up my pace. Again, they’re farther. And again. Again. I’m running. I’ve almost reached them. I stretch out my hand. And I fall. Fall down a deep hole. For seconds, for hours, for minutes. I land, and I am not hurt. It is completely dark except for the light shining through the opening at the top of the hole. I’m cold. I have to get back up. I call for help. I scream.

B u t  n o b o d y  c a m e .