When I was seven years old in elementary school the teacher gave us small projects. One such project was to write poems for a book that the entire class would work on. She let us design the cover and write all the poems. As the designs were made and voted on the class wrote the poems. The poems were mostly short but covered a variety of subjects. Then came the moment when the cover was chosen. The one chosen showed a road winding off into the distance over the horizon, and title was, ‘Poetry Is a Road to Everywhere’. I found an old copy of the book we made, and it was in fine condition until I began tuning the page which were fragile and almost crumbling from touch. It had been packed away for more than fifty years, but I paged through it reading the poems. The memories I recalled covered a wide range of feelings, and it seemed to talk to me as I flipped through the book.

There are many stories about roads, trips, and adventures connected to roads. I still remember a dream I had about being in the mountains of a Middle Eastern country trying to find a restaurant that was recommended by a person who was at a party. Of course this was all a dream, so it followed a complicated journey to the vast unknown. I travelled over roads, through valleys, across rivers in a jeep following a map that had been drawn on a napkin. Suddenly there I was looking at the sign above the door that said ‘FOOD’. The meal was spectacular, then I woke up feeling full as if I had eaten a full course meal. I actually tried to find the place on maps without any luck.

Roads can be real or in a dream, and it seems the journey is as important as the destination, a little like life. I remember walking down a highway in Arizona after my car had broken down. I was in the middle of nowhere thinking, what should I do, and just started walking. As I walked scanned the distant mountains of rock, examining them, sometimes picking up a stone thinking I should keep it for a souvenir. I would take a drink, just a sip because I only had one canteen of water. Finally, a guy driving a Toyota sports car stopped to give me a lift to the next town which had a train station. He told me he was on leave from the service and heading back to Fort Huachuca, the base where he was stationed. I asked what he did there, and he said, he worked in the Army Intelligence Center. He told me some other interesting facts and stories that I won’t go into here and now, but I can say they were captivated to the point of being incredible.

Roads go everywhere, roads tell stories, some roads twist and follow the unknown to a destination of existence where we can explore our surroundings along with our mind and thoughts. The road as we know it will end someday either naturally, accidental, or by other means. And what then? I wish I could tell you, but for me that is still a road untraveled.



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