Wonder//

The Secret Of The Shade Tree

There’s a path.


There’s a path.

On this path, a dirt road

Cold against the feet.

On this path you walk towards the horizon.

On either side

Green grass,

Too beautiful to step on,

Too alluring to rest on.

Your legs tired,

You keep walking

Weariness always accompanied by excitement of the unknown.

Sometimes above the infinite expanse you see mountains

Sometimes you see oceans

Sometimes you don’t see anything,

Except a shade tree

Not too far in the distance.

The shade tree promises rest,

And yet the shade tree never seems to get closer.

You began to walk the path

Before you knew there was a path to be walked.

Strangers you met along the way,

New landscapes enticed you away.

New dawns promised novelty, adventure.

Some you sought, some

Sought you.

You threw yourself into everything,

Out of fear of missing anything.

Each passing town fading

Your memory of the path and the shade tree.

Along the way

Roads crowded,

Possessions gathered.

Souls silenced

By ambition.

The unknown horizon

Disappeared.

In its place,

A known horizon, a painted picture.

The painted horizons promised

To unburden from never not knowing

What lay ahead.

All travelers wading towards the painted picture.

All travelers numbed by the safety of illusion.

Like a cry of wailing sirens,

The painted horizon lured you.

With no sailors to tie you to a mast,

An unwitting prisoner you became.

Years passed,

Trapped in the comfort

And acceptance of the painted horizon.

Inside the painted horizon,

There’s nowhere left to go.

Inside the painted horizon,

You are always already there.

With nowhere left to discover,

The heart bleeds,

And begins to die.

“Who painted these horizons?”

You begin to ask yourself one day.

At night you dream

Of bare feet,

Cold

On a dirt path,

Of hot sun

And a vast unknown.

Memory of somewhere,

Where there was much to discover,

Where there was much unknown,

Where you were once unknowingly alive,

Comes back to you.

You decide to journey back

To the path you once walked.

But while the path is easily lost,

It is difficult to find.

You trace the roads

Back the way you imagine you came

Aimlessly hoping to find your way.

When you’ve searched in all directions,

To no avail,

You start to question the existence of the path

In your dreams

In your memory.

Weary,

You sit down under a shade tree.

Feet throbbing

Shoes off,

Sweat

Trickles down.

A light breeze kisses your cheeks

Caresses your hair.

Sleep slumbers,

Dreams drizzle,

No longer tortured by loss of the path.

Now

You dream an older dream.

A child’s dream of possibility, a dream of what may still be.

Wake up.

Feet refreshed.

Shoes missing.

Thank the tree for having nurtured your soul.

Stand up.

As you walk out from under the tree

Your feet feel the cold dirt path,

A bird flies out the canopy of a tree in the distance towards

unbound horizon.

After a few steps you look back

Only to see an endless dirt road

Treaded with footprints

As far as the eyes of a bird could see.

Forward.

There’s a path.

On this path, a dirt road

Cold against the feet.

On this path you walk towards the horizon.

On either side

Green grass,

Too beautiful to step on,

Too alluring to rest on.

Your legs tired,

You keep walking

Weariness always accompanied by excitement of the unknown.

The horizon never gets closer

Even though you are walking towards it.

Every now and then

Passersby,

New dawns,

Adventure,

Tempt you away the way they once did.

But now you’ve walked the path of others,

The path of painted horizons,

And know the path is easily lost

And difficultly found.

When you do get lost

You learn to look

For the shade tree.

While the shade tree welcomes

All weary travelers

Who seek their path,

To find her

You must be searching for

the eternal, unknown horizon.

Originally published at medium.com

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