Where The Path Ends

It is 3:15 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the wall, wondering why we are so obsessed with finding a destination. We spend our lives walking, eyes fixed on the horizon, convinced that if we just reach the end of the trail, the noise in our heads will finally quiet down. But the path is just a line drawn on the earth. It doesn’t care if you are lost or found. It doesn’t care if you are tired. We build benches and markers to convince ourselves that we are leaving a footprint, that we are part of the landscape, but the grass grows back and the wood rots. We are just passing through a silence that was here long before us. I wonder if the path feels lonely when the sun goes down and the people stop pretending they know where they are going. Does it miss the weight of our feet, or is it relieved to finally be empty?

Mirka Krivankova has captured this quiet uncertainty in her image titled The Way. It reminds me that even the most well-marked trail eventually leads into the dark. Do you ever feel like you are walking toward something that isn’t there?