So, is the path wet and muddy, or paved and dry?  Do you have to pick your way around clumps of stubborn weeds and twisted briars?  Or is it a dry clear dirt path in a wide open meadow?

It changes, doesn’t it?  One minute we’re snuggling and giggling and the next minute snarling because of throwing away too much bad leftovers.  One day you’re walking to the market for fresh vegetables and the next day you’re trembling trying to pull your friend out of the rubble that is left of her home, crowds screaming in the distance for a food riot you are missing.

Is it just a path really, or is a “lesson”?  Is it just the way it is, no reward or punishment, or is it a terrifying moment when your heart stops…but you are not the lucky one to die.

I have died and cursed the stubborn breathing that still kept my body alive.  So for me, there must be more.  Welcome to my path.

That is why it is my imagination or faith that each morning I claim My Dear Friend that walks within me, beside me, above me, below me, around me, surrounding me–as close as the tender tiny bones inside my toes.