Crossroads
I was at the crossroads, the centre of the beginning of the end.
Depending on which direction I take my destiny will alter and morph with each step I take, with each footprint I leave on the dusty road.
The uneven surface cause me to dwindle and wallop out of balance.
As the sharp stones poke my naked feet but I walk on.
Not knowing whether my feet bleed or no I trot imagination my feet to be made of hoof, hardened by steel of history and memory of a life lived in hardship.
I reach the tarmac unsure of which way to go. I spit on my left hand using two fingers from my right hand I hit hard the spit demanding a direction, guidance from the ones who have come before me, perhaps my sweat will attract their whispers. My attempt is futile as my spit just dissolves into the air, disappearing in the heat. I sigh wanting to scream in frustration. Wishing the path I am to take will show it self perhaps through a dream , a sigh, a bird will fall out the sky, a man will appear and with his fragile walking stick point me the right direction.
Nothing happens.
The tarmac seems to be melting under the scorching sun I am thirsty and dizzy from concentrating on the four roads, desperately waiting to pick up any movement or twitching of the earth that I will use as my excuse to head in that direction. In the midst of all that chaos my mind wants to slip back to my childhood remembering the days I played as a child following the roads to anywhere they led me. Magically I would always find the way home. Without doubt or fear of the voices on the road or the screams from the stones, groans from the tress I would sing my song kicking the smaller stones and blindly follow the road home. Since then the roads have changed,
With the change come new songs. The tarmac sings in strange language, a tone I do not recognize. It groans in serpent like whispers that sometimes send shivers down my spine. Spitting black mucus, that bubbles in the heat frying insects dead in seconds.
Instead of choosing the path today, I decide to lay down the centre of the crossing. My arms stretched out, my stomach burning from heat on the floor, my knees relax into the floor and my palms touch the ground.
At first the buzzing of the heat seems to stop taken back by what I have done. I can feel I have surprised even this all knowing intersection. I lay there and find peace in my indecision. Nothing happens the clouds stop on their lazy tracks, the wind holds it s breath, the heavens look at me puzzled.
Suddenly with great gusto the sky unleashes a great crack of lightening whipping the clouds and wind into a frenzy of chaos. The sky turns grey, thunder bellows, lighting whips the sky, sending the clouds to spill buckets, and buckets of rain drops the size of peas. The rain pelts my body, beating me to a pulp I lay still listening to the clashing then small drops of ice crash on the road like small treasures they run quickly, quickly before they melt into the earth. Still I lay with my eyes closed listening to the rebellion. In the midst of this my ear to the ground I hear a familiar song coming from deep within the earth it’s the song of the dirt, the song of the dust and mud that guides my soul keeping me grounded. “Follow me “ it cries, “I know the way home”. I start to humming the tune and I slowly fall into a deep, deep sleep in the middle of the road.
