And Still the Road Goes On


A single road stretches through the forest the end disappearing beyond the curve of the hill. A mystery of a few steps further, a journey in time yet to pass.

And still the road goes on,

A mist drops to the ground, shrouding the road in a purple haze, better looked at then traveled through. Rain follows after, a wall of singular droplets cascading in rhythm to create an almost impassable barrier.

And still the road goes on,

Trees fall, rocks roll blocking entire sections off form safety. Climb overtop, the road can be seen in the distance, a looming reminder of continuing forward.

And still the road goes on,

Darkness falls, clinging like a veil to the face. Pulling, grasping, clawing and yet darkness remains. Thick, heavy, welcomed and feared. A time to weep, a time to sigh a time to sleep.

And still the road goes on,

With sun, golden, streaming through the green canopy above, softly touching below, sharing light where once was dark.

And still the road goes on,

Always on and on, just around one more corner, up one more hill, through one more glade and thicket. The road goes on. When washed from underfoot, when blown, when burned,  forever on and on, the road must go.



Some of the Worst of the Worst

We are one of the few places were we have mass murder on this scale outside acts of war. Ironic that we pride ourselves on being one of the “most advanced and greatest countries” of this age and many before. However, I’m starting to think we are at the worst of times more barbaric then the “barbarians” of the past. Murdering a group of non violent civilians or subjects cold in the back would have been seen as a godless act, one worthy of excommunication and downright cowardice. To kill without “just cause of war” (also unacceptable to be clear) or for the protection of self life, left the murderer little worse then a wild animal. Incapable of human reasoning or ability. The fact that he was killed before he could face up and own to what he had done made it little better. To behave in this was consequently proof that you were a coward, not worthy of the manhood you held and merited no right to be ushered into the afterlife.

I am not supporting war, killing or even the violent practices of the cultures before us, but I certainly think that they had many more of their priorities in check about the human lives in their villages and towns. Human kind tragedies are terrible and the worst, often shrouded by the glory of war, are unacceptable at the best of times. At the worst we have this. 50 people dead and many more dying at the hands of a single person with access to death and no balls to stand up for what he did. Slow clap.

Mostly I am proud to be an American of the 21st century. Today I am not. Today I am sad that for everything we have accomplished in such short time, we still seem to murder each other in a way that Vlad the Impaler would applaud. Congratulations. It’s some of the worst of the worst.


maxresdefault.jpgThere is a soft roar outside my window, a steady drop of water against a soaked ground. The rustle  of satin against itself.  It’s consistent, never ceasing. When it has gone, in lieu of a brief sunny morning, the absence is deafening. Like white noise, or the drone of a fan. No longer noticed, but the comfort missed when left silence.

The rain has been here for weeks now. So long that I have forgotten when it first began. In the beginning, I was over joyed with the constant rain. I love rain. It’s calming and grounding. It’s like a damping field, to dreading the electricity from bouncing and running wild. AS it is, weeks and weeks have gone by. Almost everyday it rains. Sometimes it starts with sun but often it is engulfed by the persistent clouds and again the rain falls. Other days the sun clears for a moment of sunset before the night shrouds and the rain continues.

The sun has become a forgotten memory. When it arrives it’s like trying to grasp on to something you remember but can’t place. It feels so familiar and yet so unknown. A forgone story lost to time. And yet, still it is comforting. A time of replenish. Everything is so green. Greener then I have seen it in a long time. The earth sings with happiness as the abundance of water. (Although the flowers fight to bloom, the rain forces them into a bow.)

Rain. Days go by and still it rains. And yet, when it finally ends, I shall miss it.