Into The Following
I love dawn. How the dew hits the grass that gently gleams, the way the sky’s subtle sweetness softens the view. It gently lures me into the day; its beauty is what I revel in as I swing my pack over my shoulders, dragging my weary body through the field. As the light rises, I am forced again to face my choice.
I see the forest, mountains, and ocean all within my line of sight, and I am torn, again.
The sun rises overhead, and I forget the beauty of dawn. Distracted by the choice, I become more consumed with how heavy my pack is. I stop to rifle through it, trying to figure out what I could leave behind and I miss the sunset. As I fall asleep, my body seeps into the soft grass, and I awaken to the lure of dawn, reminded of beauty before I inevitably forget it.
I have been wandering all over this field for a seemingly infinite number of dawns.
This morning, the spaces between my neck and shoulders feels sore. My backpack has left an imprint in the small patch of grass, just as my body has left from the night before. As I rub my shoulders, I notice something I hadn’t before: another imprint in the grass next to mine.
The grass behind me rustles and I slowly turn, startled by the stranger in the field. But as I look at him, I quickly realize he is no stranger. He belongs here, in this field, more than I do. I don’t quite understand how to articulate his belonging, except that it is nowhere near my own.
“Come to me,” he says. His voice sounds like the way dawn looks, and I follow without question.
“Leave the pack.”
I hesitate – I need it, I think. It has been my only companion in this field. It is the imprint next to mine in the morning, it is what pulls me into slumber. “I don’t know if I can leave it behind,” I whisper. It is still dawn, after all. “How would I journey without it?”
The stranger stares at me with a deep care that startles my soul. He turns to gaze with me at the three landscapes ahead, beautiful but terrifying reminders of my choice.
“That is not your choice,” he says. He pauses, reveling in the beauty of dawn with me. As we linger in the beauty of unhurried being, the pressure to choose falls away, and I am gently lured into the following.
