The walk

There is something about a path you know so well, that you could walk it in the dark. A path that your feet has traveled so many times that you know when to avoid the satellite pole, or the pile of downed limbs that have been there for more then three weeks.  When it’s so dark out that you can’t really see more then a few inches in front of you, but you know where the small bridge over the empty rain run off is. When you know which of the wobbley boards on that bridge to step over. When you feel comfortable letting your kids walk ahead of you because you know this path. You trust this path. This is the path that always leads you home.

It might sound sappy, but it’s true. In a world that is increasingly getting more and more uncertain, the certainty of this path grounds me.  I walk this path probably a dozen times each week. It goes from my house to my in laws house. I sometimes let my oldest daughter take the path by herself. At some point my youngest will get there too. It’s a good path. It takes me where I want to go, whether it’s bright and sunny and I’m on my  way home to see my mother in law for lunch or to play outside with the kids, or when I’m on my way home after family dinner, our Sunday ritual.


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