an ev'ning at the airport :: prev :: next :: two hours late, maybe more so I decide to indulge the fiver is ripped and she won't take it... where's a treasury agent when you need one nonetheless I at last immerse myself in tolkien, enjoying the journey, yet kind of helplessly looking for the allegory. a thrown glance collides in mid-air and the player piano with its clunky renditions of herbie hancock and fine young cannibals (commitment to art in public?!) does not present too much of a distraction when finally a chair opens up and I settle in the din of the courtyard aids the immersion, but then mister talkie finds a seat and speaks profanities in loud, piercing tones to someone miles away tolerance is a strength but still I find I must read aloud to keep focused. then, finally, I wonder what the clock may have to say so I venture out to discover my wait has only begun many more chairs are now open so I find a new perch and there re-join the fifteen on their journey and although we trudge along quite well it's difficult to not notice reality two girls, one guy... on business? then she lovingly scratches his back. later, two meet, embrace, kiss and all I can think... "do you really know what lurks inside? how did you get here? why do you trust?" and the sting of it all snaps me like a rubber-band as I reflect on my own betrayal... no one has pure motives, no one really knows what they want, they're just hoping to find something close enough, and they can lie about the rest... many weary travellers come and go sit, and rest, and read, and move on. then comes mister thick-accent talkie who is even louder than the first. Is it inconsiderate to invade the bubble? After all, this is not a library. Yet I am not the only one journeying through words here and there are many more places that he might burn off his free-night-minutes wagging his lips. I hear the sing-songy words in my head... "I am not knowing why you are talking so loud..." But my accursed tolerance keeps them from reaching my tongue. the red sweater walks past... Did I see that one before? I did, much earlier, with friends in tow. I thought, maybe nought. She criss-crosses in front of me again, then again. I wonder, and begin down that road, then quickly retreat, remembering my beliefs my home my children my life too much, too much, too much to fit in. Stay on the path, said Gandalf. Stay on the path, said Beorn. But like so many, they trusted their eyes, which showed no end to the path, and their stomachs which drew them off the path, and into greater darkness, when they were so close, so close. How close am I? He said he knows even before we ask. And I too see lights off in the forest, to the left. Yet deep inside, I know if I will just keep walking, here in the misery and darkness of this deep forest, I too will discover that the end is closer than I ever could have thought... ...that is the thread of hope that carries my heart beat from dusk to dawn, and then again... © 2002 (27 november) john r. chase
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