I stare at the wheels slowly turning on the hard asphalt, so black. I wonder who paved this road in the wide open country, such an efficiency that manages to serve the people but leave the vistas of beauty that brought here.
I can’t help, but have to follow the cart to where it’s going.
Like my life, this gig presents no hurry. It has only to get where it’s going. The horse, like my heart, knows the way home, if only the driver/rider will trust it. So I take my time gathering my journal, my pencil, my blanket, my backpack. I put them all in the car. I stop on moment to take a mental image of the view and tag it as This is where I first saw the gig that is my life.
I feel calm with thought of being on my road − my little car, my one-horse gig.
I stayed back as far as I could. A metaphor doesn’t need me intruding. I need things from it, things I will learn. Only ego would think I have something to offer, and then the metaphor would be gone.
We approach a village it’s tiny, maybe 1000 people call it home. The gig and the horse in charge pass on through to the other side, where it finds a farm. The man driving gently takes the gig from horse and takes the horse to his ministrations.
I am left to see what I came for − my life , my one-horse gig, has brought me to an open door.
−me strauss Letting me be