45, 46

45.

Just another stop on the path.
Just another step on the way.
Just another breath or two, or three.

What a strange trip it's been.
Hills and valleys, again and again.
Twist and turns and ups and downs
and yet I trudge on.

It's good to look back, sometimes.
But not for long.
and not that often.
It's about what lies ahead
what stands in front
off in the distance
just beyond the next bend,
or the one after that,
or maybe the one after that?

Who knows?
No one knows.
Knowing isn't the point.
It's about exploring.
Testing, feeling, experiencing.
No matter whether light of day,
or dark of night;
In the clearest of days,
or the thickest of fogs,
so thick that I can't count my five fingers
as I hold them in front of my face;

one step
one single step
one uncertain yet necessary yet promising yet fearful yet exciting yet nervous yet calm step
at a time.

I try to peek ahead.
All I see are trees.
And a path
my path
a narrow path
as it curves off in the not-too-far distance.

It's good to look ahead, sometimes.
But not for long,
not for long indeed.

It's about where I am.
It's about where I've been.
It's about where I'm going.

It's about why I am.
It's about why I've been.
It's about why I'm going.

It's about who I am.
It's about who I've been.
It's about who I'm going (to be).

Time for the next step.

46.