and so the journey begins

i remember a path in the village i grew up in. in any season, the lane lead me to fantasy, to day dreaming and to inner peace, by the time i walked back home. over youth, i made that path mine. 

the walkway lay very uneven, since tractors used it, as did dog lovers, mountain bikers and attentive walkers. but somehow i hardly ever crossed anyone when i walked it, each of us chosing our moments well. 

where i live now, there's paths like that. some are familar and well trodden, others i can't find back for the life of me. seasons colour in landscapes beyond recognition sometimes. but i kind of love that aspect.

paths, of course, stand witness to different meanings. it's good to find yourself on a straight path, although curly wurly ones offer fantastic scenery. it's good to stay on a path, but often alluring beauty lies on side trails. 

i like dirty paths too, and soft mushy earth your boots sink into, given you are wearing the proper gear to get sucked in by brown muck. it's all so alive this freshness, especially in winter. winter makes me feel humble. 

and humble leads me to tradition, don't ask me how. don't ask me why. i pull from my library sarah ban breathnach's TRADITIONS and hope to find solace on these dark winter days. merry christmas. ♥ 
{all images from recent walk in idegem, geraardsbergen}

1 comment :

  1. Gosh I saw somewhere the other day a museum of notebooks especially drawing notebook and anyone could contribute. Gosh I don't know if it is in the states or in Europe. I actually thought of you when I saw it, but that is what happens when you have so many children-the brain becomes mush.