Making my way down this trail that follows the shoreline as I feel the rain on my face and catch a scent of snow in the air, and I seem to hear the ghostly strains of a violin and cello being played in a slow haunting style that has my mind drift back. To thoughts of one whose heart had finally run out of summers in October ’92 and questions I asked and a promise I made, before they went to that undiscovered country from which no traveler returns from and where we all eventually go to in time.

Questions I had asked about the sense of life which has no reason or rhyme and to which logic has never applied to. And that promise I made that I was released from in October ’08 concerning family and the tenuous connections I had, which I silently resigned to keep inside till I could walk away as I closed my eyes and without thinking cut those connections, as I walked away and towards that defining moment that I had found and found me as the Tao directed me to it. Crossing and burning the bridge with lessons learned as I sought the secrets to be found and mysteries to be solved, and once again daring to reach for the skies and shoot the moon as I opened my fist to take all I had missed.

Now stopping where I stand as I hear the water lap on the ice encasing the cattails growing at the water’s edge, and looking across the channel and seeing the ghostly outlines of the islands in the haze under these heavy grey skies. As I wonder if some are right about life being a dream that moves at dizzying speed and flies by like a bullet train? Or is it merely a joke to them as well as their pantomime with all of us being merely vessels to hold memories? Memories like the “good old days”, which now just flicker on the screen like old silent movies lost in time. Yet we all know that the devil lives in the details and grins when he sees the hand he’s dealt us from the bottom of the deck, which has me bluff and try to win with a losing hand even if Dylan said it can’t be done yet my heart won’t let me give in. As I turn and see the dark outlines of pines and bare hardwood trees on the shoreward side that will take me to the road, and to that old weathered red lensed lighthouse that was standing like a lone sentinel on the point of the horseshoe shaped bay. While I make my way through this steady drizzle, that’s falling on me.

Knowing that the Tao is directing each moment in time as I reach the road that will take me to my starting point as the light begins to fade as the day signals that it is beginning to give up on itself in disgust as the rain keeps falling. I reach a sort of a crossroads with three directions as I stop and ponder which to take as shadows begin to fall on me. To attempt one direction through the woods in the gloom of the dying light would only have me double back where I stand, and if it is a reflection of life then I don’t need to repeat where I have been like those fallen angels wrapped in fire, as deep thunder rolled from around their shoulders as they fell.

I might be a thousand miles from the place some consider my home but, very few know this is really my home while I walk this road that others have gone down before I see a new world of people and things as I walk down the line. And I choose the path that will take me by that old Coast Guard station and pass the lonely picket on duty standing there, and I ain’t gonna grieve for that life I left behind and know there will be those I will miss and those I won’t give a damn about. Most have just given me answers to nothing and refuse to accept I may have lost battles I ended up winning the war, for my feet are now pointed away from the past as I head to the point where the old lighthouse stands.

Making my way down the road following the harbour as I head through the twilight, and noticing the water looking smooth as glass as I continue onward in the vanishing light as the streetlights come on. Soon I will be in a full winter’s dark as I feel the rain which has been with me on the trail has finally stopped.

Heading home from the trail and heading home where I am supposed to be.

Copyright January 2012 – 1: Timberwolf International LTD.