The journey looms, scope unknown, the circuitous path winding away before us leading who-knows-where. As we plod along the straightaway, we easily become complacent, numb; no need to worry, to push, to work harder. An approaching curve catches our attention, appearing silently on the horizon, our gut clenching as they gets closer. Somehow we know 
they bring a shift, a change, a loss or gain, however dramatic or insignificant. We may hold our breath, close our eyes, even slow down, but it is inevitable; we reach the next one. We are grateful when, having traversed the curve, we see smooth sailing, perhaps of a slightly different hue or fabric than the straightaway now behind us. When the journey passes alongside wild terrain, filled with hidden, deadly ravines, monsters, terrors, we are so grateful that we are following a path, and not lost in that mess. We know that stepping off the path, even for a moment, will set off unforeseen consequences, yet we often do it, even if purely out of boredom or as a means of claiming our selves, our individuality. The longer the dalliance, the more difficult to return. On the uphill stretches, we long for a respite, for water, a bench, anything to delay the inevitable blood, sweat, and tears required to reach the crest. At the top, we catch our breath, take in the view, rejoicing in our capacity to climb this high, to where the air is measured in gulps. Breath caught, we scan the downhill path, assessing our best progress, perhaps vainly attempting to hold off what comes next. We must continue; however, here we try to slam on the brakes – surely it is dangerous to go this fast. Is it fear of missing the details, or that we may stumble over an unforeseen stone?
For each, the journey is unique. The straightaways, the curves, the witnessing, the highs, the lows, are taken at an individual pace, striding along in our personal, private shoes. One of the points on which our journeys converge is where we feel terror, where the path before us heads to a black pit that looks suspiciously like hell. Our mind revolts at the mere glimpse of what it is going to take to get us through; we imagine it is not possible. Yet we are propelled forward, our minds shrieking “Stop!” but we cannot. Logic tells us, if it cannot be done alone, yet must be done, we need help. Then we are on common ground, then we ask for assistance – calling on the Divine, the Gods, the Fates – we are on common ground when we ask for mercy.
(written 7/25/11 for Fox Valley Writers Group)