A Road to a Path

I walked down a road today that was broken and nearly washed away. Full of potholes from years of use without any maintenance. As if the world just forgot it was there and moved on without it. I closed my eyes and remembered what it looked like when was new. Strong and sturdy, always reliable, eager to help the travelers on their journey. So proud of its freshly paved status. Like all new things untested, it seemed rather invincible. And when I opened my eyes, the majesty faded away, as I looked at this road now less traveled. But I could still see remnants of what once was great. A foundation that was now a shell of itself, was still there, even if the newness had been stripped away by time. I began to feel sorry for the discarded empty road. I envisioned the selfish cars with their self-serving schedules they wanted to meet at the expense of the road. Never once thinking of what their actions inflicted. I began to grow angry at the potential robbed from this road. It tried so hard to be everything to those on it, and for all its efforts, it was abandoned by those that broke it. Now there was nothing left but cracks and faded paint lines with the edges so crumbled, it was losing its shape.

I looked down at where the edge once was and saw the smallest wildflower growing. Against all odds, it was trying to thrive. The grass began to grow onto the road from both sides, as if it were reaching its arms around the road to hug it and offer consolation. Like it was attempting to cover the wounds in a warm embrace. I thought back even farther, before any blueprints were drawn of a road, it had been a path. Just an idle dirt path, not used for personal gain, but to be enjoyed for what it was. No agenda, only the wonderment of what was around the next bend. I thought to myself, I wonder if the path thought the evolution in becoming a road were growing pains, or just pain. And when did the excitement of change, turn to bitter resentment. I supposed that didn’t matter much now that the scars were there. But then again, maybe it did. Perhaps in that moment the road saw no reason in staying strong and unwavering for those who didn’t deserve it. With that small flower, was growing a new way of being. Or should I say, an old way of being, restoring the path to what it was before someone else’s ambitions changed it. The authenticity was coming back as nature reclaimed the road. One day the transformation will be complete, and the broken road will be a memory while the path basks in its original glory. Waiting for those who can appreciate the path for what it is, and not the road they want it to be. Waiting to see who will return when all the asphalt is gone. I know I will be there; will you be there too?