Prompted by : The pedigree of Honey~Emily Dickinson
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On spangle journeys to the peak
It's the journey that matters, not the destination, Napoleon reminded himself
as he trekked through the woods near his family's cabin in the Catskills.
Why he let Illya talk him into this hike, he had no idea. It was raining, muddy and the leaves falling from the trees were slimey...
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A Clover, any time, to him,
"Hush," the Russian said, smiling and silently pointing ahead of them. "See in the thicket...a doe."
Napoleon spotted it with a smile. The rain stopped. Sun burst through the forest canopy. A rainbow of autumn leaves, suddenly spectacular; reds, oranges, yellows.
"Yes, the journey..." he quietly whispered to himself.