...that our tracks where we walked in the early days no longer exist. The wind and the rain have eroded all memories and even where we left these solid references to our passing, they have passed almost back into the earth from which they came.
Still we are no closer it seems to our destination.
I do not know if we have lost our way and simply circle around making the path always longer or if instead the place we seek is itself departing faster than we can approach it.
I think that may be the case. It is how it feels.
We have this sense that the direction is right, not a certainty, mark, but a sense. A glimmering of being on the right track. And so we set out each sunrise, singing and chanting as we go. They ride, some of them; I walk alongside the cart where my precious cargo lies. The children start off at a run, all laughter and shouting, but by mid-morning they are trailing behind, dragging sticks in the dirt. By late afternoon, the small ones are begging to be carried or trying to climb on the cart. With regret, I don't allow this. My cargo. Those on the horses pull the children up to sit in front of their saddles, to wind sticky hands through glossy manes. I am glad to see this, though I fear for the horses.
We do not speak much, not during the day. The dust makes our mouths dry, so we wrap scarves around our faces. To shout through the folded fabric and over the noise of wheels and hooves and the whistling wind is too much. We talk when we stop for water, for food, to make camp for the night. And always we feel that the course we take is right, but that we remain so far distant from our journey's end.
Two have died since we set out. One was old and her time had come. The other succumbed to sickness on the road. We waited with him two days in hope he would improve. But he did not. Some wished me to put him on the cart. Regretfully, I refused. And they did not put pressure on me. The next day he had passed and we went on.
Sometimes I wonder if we will all die on the way. And if we do, does that mean our journey has been worthless? Or is this what life is?
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