A few 'experiences' on a relatively, balanced out Monday, trigger me to pause a moment and reflect. My eidetic memory of circumstances, choices, decisions, a confetti of emotions, manage to catch me at the least unexpected of times. It has always been, well, amusing, undescribable, gut-wrenching, complex. I do not know whether I shall ever manage to tell it as it is.. tell it the way it is, for me..
Here's a poem that resonates..
And somewhere, just as it is, in the last stanza.. I would hope to find solace in the fact that it shall be told, heard and understood.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
-Robert Frost
