Daylight was slowly but surely slipping away. My two companions continued bickering; I suspect they have forgotten why. In my silence, I wondered if we would have to camp out tonight again – a prospect that had long ceased to be pleasant.
But just as we began to tire, a town appeared on the horizon with its back to a setting sun so radiant it illuminated the otherwise dark skies with a warm glow of orange. From distance, silhouettes of windmills still in operation welcomed us; their rotating sails seemingly waving us in for a rest long due.
On our way to this town, I was frustrated with the numerous twists and turns that we had to travel through.
I wondered why the road had to have so many twists and turns.
It should have been obvious, but only now do I realise the forests and hills all around us – treacherous terrain which made going forward in a straight line, quite possibly and quite literally, a dead end.
So the road went around in random twists and turns. In my blindness, I had thought it a frivolity which made my journey even more difficult than it already was.
I now see they were childish protests.
In truth, the winding roads’ very winding nature afforded the people passing through, myself included, a much safer journey.
The long journey in the wilderness had drained me both physically and mentally, but in that one ethereal moment, I felt rejuvenated.
In some ways, it seemed almost inevitable, as if some divine force was telling me:
the high road is one that is long and winding;
the path is treacherous, and the winds are unforgiving,
but the end point is one that is worth persevering for.
This journey may have ended, but my pilgrimage continues.
I wonder if this lifelong path I tread will culminate, too, in a beautiful town somewhere, someday?