One's life path may trace like a wheel's rut in fresh snow, carving arcs between the hills of a winding country road, or fly narrow and straight; An arrow, vanishing into the slumbering winter forest...
The unwavering, thin line of travel nearly indistinguishable across the pristine blanket of white laid upon the sleeping fields beneath; A line which fades and dissipates even as it races tirelessly towards the blue-grey horizon.
You never know where and when that rut will abruptly end. And, more importantly, how? Whether in a ditch, thrown off the road by the blundering twist of the wheel... Or at the door of your cabin, carved out of the darkness by the light of your headlights.
You turn the key, open the door, and enter in silence.
Without a sound, large snowflakes glide onto the roof and tree branches, transforming everything that looked so familiar into something entirely foreign. Not even the slightest breeze dares disturb this sleepy kingdom.
Any blaspheming noise disappears without a trace into the air, thick with snowflakes; Sound breaks like a wave on the shore of the majestic and boundless sea of calm.
Even time itself seems to freeze without reference marks to move against, neither forwards nor backwards. There's no past, no future; Only the present, locked like a photograph in its frame.
Words might disturb this atmosphere of an ancient fairy tale, scattering it like the wind scatters smoke from a chimney. What will be left beyond this boring, everyday routine?
The crackling of wood in a freshly-lit fireplace, the quiet footsteps behind the back; Merely a soft accompaniment to the scene...
And once again, that gaze fills the air with a hint of warmth, generously electrifying their space with eager anticipation.
Soon, in this special moment, no longing gazes will be needed.
And now, only a short distance on the path remains for these two, measured by slow sips of the hot tea...
Where every sip is like a step towards love.
Love. An old word, used and abused, yet nevertheless still managing to carry its deep, sacred meaning through the centuries: The desire of two opposites to come together, uniting in their hope for a future... And for their happiness.
Maybe it's this hope that actually drives life. If we stop believing in happy endings, would it make sense to keep following the path? What should reassure us during hard times, other than a fleeting chance to grasp a piece of the great universal happiness for ourselves? At the sharp turns of life, where our wheels threaten to skid off the edge, this hope gives us the much-needed traction to remain on our path towards the future.
Over there.
Around the Bend.