The railroad, two diverging paths into the wood, so many stories to be conjured.

I'm currently researching 1830 America and the railroads for a novel based on a true story. I'm taken by this photograph partly because, even though you're able to see down the rail a bit, you obviously cannot see your final destination.  What a perfect metaphor for writing, living, being?  It also isn't lost on me that the path veers into two directions. It reminds me of Frost's wonderful poem The Road Not Taken and the anthem-like feeling it has imprinted upon me. 

Paths taken, paths ignored.  It becomes ever more clear as one rounds the corner of middle age, the importance of such choices,  how they become increasingly urgent.  And this is precisely where I find myself -- in life, in the writing and possibly where we all might find ourselves in a rapidly changing world.  Estimates cite some one billion blogs floating around the ether, which leads me to ask; what in God's name do I have to say that adds any kind of value or meaning to such a divergent, gargantuan stream of thoughts, words and images?

And then it dawns on me.

Perhaps a blog isn't for "the world at large," perhaps, selfishly, the journey belongs to me alone. Paths cross then veer away, only to hopefully rejoin again.  And though we may not see clearly our final destination, we can however, with patience and fortitude, tolerate the path's uncertainty and find joy in each stage of the journey.  

Here's to the roads not yet taken!