The Path to Where?

A steep path on the Huron Valley Trail near the high school. It's a narrow, rock strewn little path, and I do not yet know where it leads. Yesterday my camera was along on the walk, and I stopped to take a picture. The path wasn't where I thought it was, now that I was looking for it, and found it after doubling back. It's steep enough and I'm old enough that I looked for hand holds. As I was contemplating a good angle, and wondering if I was just going to walk away, a sun glint caught old metal. In the center of the path is a coil of barbed wire buried in the dirt, under rocks, and exposed by erosion. There are storytelling analogies galore to contemplate: assent to the unknown, elusive goals, obstacles, hidden dangers, aging. Years after sighting the intriguingly overgrown path, I saw a man clearing it. He was working hard and slowly, perhaps he was a special person like my brother. And soon again it became the visual for a path I'd read in a novel. I thought it was The Silence of Trees by Valya Dudycz Lupescu. But perhaps it was in The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht. Each book is a search, a path taken, a path walked by, a path hidden and revealed. One day before the rocks are iced, the path more treacherous, I'll climb and find what is at the top of this hill, once hidden, now revealed.